


Snakes and Butterflies

by KillerGirlFuria



Series: Random Fandom Word Vomit [6]
Category: Bayonetta (Video Games), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Progression, BAMF Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Demons, Family, Gen, Harry Potter was Adopted by Other(s), Harry Potter was Raised by Other(s), Mandatory Helpful Goblins, No beta we die like illiterates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22916230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerGirlFuria/pseuds/KillerGirlFuria
Summary: On an excursion to Britain, Bayonetta finds a baby abandoned on the doorstep of one of many identical homes in suburban Surrey.Taking the child for herself is the logical course of action, isn't it?Or: Harry Potter grows up an Umbra Witch, and the British Wizarding World isn't even remotely ready.Alternatively titled:"Bayonetta's Adventure in Parenthood, or How British Wizarding World Dug Its Own Grave"
Relationships: Bayonetta & Petunia Evans Dursley, Dudley Dursley & Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Bayonetta, Harry Potter & Jeanne (Bayonetta), Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Jeanne (Bayonetta) & Credence Barebone, Newt Scamander & Harry Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Harry Potter
Series: Random Fandom Word Vomit [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636369
Comments: 56
Kudos: 306





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's a side project I've been dabbing on for literal years now. I have about 4-5ish chapters written, so I'll be uploading them sometime soon. Maybe.

  1. **witches don’t steal children (or do they?)**



What exactly brought her to Britain, well... She would be neither lying nor saying the truth if she said it was work, not really. It was The Hallows Eve, after all, and it was widely known that tonight, the Infernals danced on the streets. She actually met some of the lesser Devils on her walk, all of which greeted her in more or less polite way. The less polite it was, the more her shadow – a form with giant butterfly wings – wavered and the greater the turn from not-so-very into perfectly polite was, much to her amusement. Some little horned gnome-like creatures even followed her for a short period and it wasn’t difficult to guess that those weren’t, in fact, gnomes or goblins, but children, mini-Infernals, instead. None of them even tried to be hostile, though.

(They all remember, she knows, that about ten months ago she just waltzed through Hell itself, just to free the soul of her friend, and they fear and respect her all the same for it. And earning the respect of nearly every resident of hell? That is no easy feat, even for someone like her. But she did it, walked through Inferno as if she owned it in the name of friendship, and that was enough for them. A proof of both her power and will. A warning of what she would do to those meaning harm to her and hers.)

The thing is, there weren’t many Angels, or Paradiso-natives overall, around. Not with so many Infernals just doing whatever they please for that one, glorious day. She didn’t even have to fight any, because as soon as one of them appeared – be it an Angel, Archangel, Virtue, or even one overly-cocky Seraphim – at least a dozen of Infernals jumped at it and ripped it to shreds in an accompaniment of bells and growls and halos slipping everywhere. So, yes. If Umbra Witches ever had a day to truly call free, it was the Halloween. She could’ve just marked it off and spend a lovely day at the spa and shopping, this time without any interruptions, but-

But.

But there was something that made her leave her cozy, expensive flat in the very heart of New York. There was… A shift, for the lack of a better word, a shift that caused an outcry in Paradiso and itched even the Infernals, and Bayonetta was absolutely certain that if it wasn’t for Halloween and all those smug Infernals walking around, she would be flooded with Angels by now.

So here she was, in Britain, near London, in the earldom of Surrey in Little Whinging, where her instinct had led her. She strolled down the streets, tucked in the safety of Purgatorio, hidden from any mortal creature that could her eyes upon her, being greeted by Infernals and occasionally, much to the glee of some lower-ranks, greeting them back.

She hated Britain, to be honest. It was… Old. Older than her, even, and not many things could’ve said that. But this little town… It all looked the same. Each and every house barely differed from one another, and that kept making her sick. She missed New York, honestly, the glassy skyscrapers, tall shopping malls and business centers, streets thrumming with life, no two things the same and each aimed to be more individual, more original than the other. And how the lights reflected at night from the ocean, and its parks that somehow weren’t all that polluted as one would think. She was not made to live in a… Middle of nowhere, honestly, in a tiny house that looked exactly as hundreds of others. She was not. She was rich, and luxurious, and a bitch, occasionally and always justified, and she loved it.

But Rodin called and she answered, and followed her instincts up to… Here, whatever of a hole in nowhere here was. But she trusted her instincts, as every single of her now nearly-extinct clan was taught as soon as they could understand. _You’re an Umbra, you’re free, and you trust you gut because it’s right, and if it isn’t, make sure to fix that mistake by pummeling every obstacle into the ground_ , instructors said once. And they were right, honestly. They were most of the time.

Bayonetta is caught up in her thoughts, when, instinctively, because how else, her legs refuse to move. She snaps her head around, up until she spots a man, deformed by spiritual barrier that divides ghost-realm of Purgatorio from physical realm of Earth, but he’s clad in black robes, or black hooded cloak actually and has, what she assumes, lush, white beard. Lush enough that had she still sported her previous, long-haired look, she might’ve even felt jealous.

(Not, now, though, because Pixie Cut is so much more _stylish._ )

Better yet, the man is actually sucking the light out of lamps into a device of sorts, and that’s what makes Bayonetta snort. For her, all it would take is snap her fingers for shadows to cloak the lamps.

And then, she sees a cat, and the cat turns into another person, perhaps a woman, but she can’t quite say because of the cloak. But said person has a pointy hat, and the Witch snorts again before she can stop herself. Well, it’s not like they’ll hear her, anyway, because even if she feels some sort of magic from them, they pass right by her, with the woman passing through her, and they don’t even flinch. They speak of something she doesn’t quite comprehend, not knowing the background which caused their talk, and besides, the spiritual barrier deforms their voices slightly, too. And she just knows that those people are important, because cats don’t just become humans, and that’s Umbran ability granted to them by forming a pack with their own infernal once the training is said and done.

But then, Umbra weren’t the only magic users in the world.

And then she sees that. A motorbike. Flying in the air. And as never before, Bayonetta is flabbergasted, mouth open ( _not too wide, she’s a lady!_ ) but… But it’s a motorbike. A flying motorbike.

Sweetest Sheba, even Angels don’t produce such ridiculous ideas.

And the man riding it? He’s huge, and towers even over Bayonetta, who is tall enough without her heels, but she likes them very high as well, so at least half of the rifle of Green and Black would fit latched to it.. And he apparently carries some sort of wrapped package, this man-

“ **It’s a child** ,” a Hatred grumbles from behind her, two-edged scythe neatly tucked to its back and all, Enochian clear and she understands every word. She moves her eyes over to the three people again, narrowing her lids and fixing her glasses up a bit higher with Red. “ **It’s a toddler, I’d say, around a year old. But, you see, it’s not innocent anymore - far from it. They won’t want it up there** ,” Hatred points one of its claws into the sky. “ **It’s already destined for us.** ”

“ **Thank you for the information, Hatred** ,” Bayonetta replies fluently in Enochian, and demon bares its teeth in grotesque smile, and, just like that, walks away. What it said only proves Bayonetta’s gut right – that coming here was, indeed, a good choice. Because a child, barely a year old and already assigned to Inferno for eternity? That is not normal, unless one is destined to be Umbra, and even then they permanently sign their fate only after they swear their soul to their respective demon partner. And that happens only in the second decade of their lives, not second **year**!

But then, Bayonetta shakes it off and turns back towards the people, just in time to hear their conversation. She doesn’t bother feeling bad for eavesdropping, either, because what’s the point?

“Albus, do you really think it’s safe, leaving him with these people?” the woman in pointy hat asks the man with the lush beard. “I’ve watched them all day, and they’re the worst sort of muggles imaginable!”

Bayonetta winces. The term, muggle, it does ring a bell. Distant one, though, but Jeanne or Rodin will surely have more information on the term and groups of people who use them, and who is it used to refer to. And if not she’ll just have Cheshire sniff here and there.

“They really are-“ the woman continues, but is cut short.

“The only family he has,” bearded man says, and Bayonetta winces. That would mean his parents are gone, most likely dead, and… And she can relate, really, even if her parents weren’t dead when she was young, but her father was cast away, and her mother imprisoned, and she never really interacted much with them, especially after she began her training. And the other Umbra weren’t exactly nice because her father was, after all, a Lumen Sage.

She was a taboo. A particularly powerful taboo, but a taboo still.

“This boy will be famous!” woman croaks quietly. “There will be no child in our world who doesn’t know his name!”

“Exactly,” bearded man agrees. “He’s better off growing away from all of that. Until he’s ready.”

 _Ready for what_ , Bayonetta itches to ask, but doesn’t. She isn’t stepping out of Purgatorio, not now. Not with them around. Wizarding world was convinced for centuries that Umbra were gone for good, she was not about to change that notion anytime soon.

And then, they place the child on a doorstep. On November night. With nothing but a letter and a threadbare blanket, and leave.

Bayonetta has every goddamn right to be disturbed and alarmed by this, and feels very obliged to let an rather unladylike outcry of pure rage that makes lesser Infernals scatter around in panic and run.

And then she turns into a panther and gently curls around the tiny body before she even realizes what she’s doing, because hell, that’s what Umbra Witches do. That was with her younger self over a year ago, and with Loki ten months ago. She just feels this odd need to make sure this child – and any other defenseless child left on a goddamn doorstep during the frosty night, with no reassurance it’ll survive, like any being with two brain cells to rub together – makes it through. And she honestly hates those people already. With passion.

And if what they said about people they left the child with, she isn’t going to like them, either.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

It’s only three days after that blasted child of her perfect, now-deceased sister arrived ( _ha, she wants to say, I knew it would end up like that!_ ) that a doorbell rings. It’s noon, both children – hers and Lily’s – are asleep, so she moves to open the door, still in apron, newspaper in her hand, because it’s most likely just Arabella again, to borrow the salt or sugar. Petunia quite likes the crazy cat-lady, honestly, she’s kind and patient and somehow just knows things.

But instead of Arabella, dressed in oversized, patched clothes dusted with cat’s fur, she’s greeted with sight that makes her drop the paper she’s holding.

Because that woman is tall, with short, jet-black hair and thick-outlined glasses. Her figure is what could make Victoria’s Secret’s models green in jealousy, and her dress shows that – it’s dark, between blue and purple, neckline and sleeves trimmed with black fur, and a hat, matching color-wise and wide adorning her head. It’s worth mentioning that the dress is side-cut. High.

“Hello, Mrs. Dursley,” the woman greets, perfect English but accent foreign, soft, _sultry_. And, just like that, she waltzes into the house, and Petunia finds herself unable to even make a remark about it. Only, absently, notes that her shoes are lined with diamond-looking crystals and look expensive. The woman smiles, and there’s something dangerous about that smile, as she enters the hall. Vernon is away, it’s just her and that woman.

“Is there… Something you need?” she utters, as if something makes her lace her words with extra dose of politeness, because this woman is tall and intimidating.

“Yes,” she smiles, whirling around, too fast, too graciously for someone so tall in such shoes. “It’s about your nephew, actually,” he woman says. Petunia tenses, jaw clenching.

“What about it?” she says, crossing her arms on her chest.

“Him,” Petunia’s guest says instantly and sharply, and Petunia flinches. “I’ve been there, you see, when they left the child on your doorstep,” woman says then, and her voice is once more lightly toned, but there’s something ringing underneath when she says ‘them’, quickly masked with a sweet smile. “I was the only one who kept little Harry company throughout the night, making sure he doesn’t freeze during first night of November. I was there, well hidden, when you weren’t at all happy about that child you found. I spent three days watching what would you do with him.”

“You stalked me?” Petunia asks, but somewhere deep down knows that police would just amuse that woman. There was… Something, for the lack of better word, resonating within her. Something dark and wild and powerful.

“If phrasing it like that makes you feel better, yes, although I’d personally say ‘studied’,” the other woman smiles. “And, basing off of that study, I decided to come to you with an offer.”

The woman’s silver eyes darken, and so does the room. There’s no sultry eye-candy in the room anymore. There’s a woman reeking of danger and power. A predator, and Petunia is the prey, lest she weighs her words well.

“What offer?” Petunia manages to ask, and the woman smiles.

“I’m offering to take care of Harry Potter, your nephew, instead of you,” the woman says, and somewhere, deep down, Petunia feels like something heavy falls off of her chest. “To remove him from your life unless you wish to meet him.”

Petunia bites her lower lip and glares at the woman. She’s struggling, that’s apparent. Between the duty and the child she knows she detests, the child she fears. And that woman before her, who’s magical, just like him. There’s magic thrumming in every inch of her body, ancient and powerful, nothing like she’s seen before, different, wilder, more chaotic- But magic still.

She lets out a whistling breath.

“You don’t look much like a mother material to me,” she says, and the woman snorts.

“None of us do up until we’re presented with a fact of having to care for child,” she counters, and Petunia finds it hard to disagree, so she nods and tries to not to think about the relief it brings her.

“Well,” she promptly decides, “he’ll be better off with other… People, like him,” she almost says ‘freaks’ but stops herself in the last second, because she’s unsure of that woman’s reaction. She surely doesn’t want to provoke her. The woman, though, just smiles, as if she _knows_.

“My name is Cereza,” the woman says. “I’m taking the boy and the letter now, and soon someone will come to take care of all paperwork.”

“Good,” Petunia nods. “We haven’t adopted him ourselves yet, so it’ll make it easier. Me and Vernon will just vouch for you, and… And where will you be taking him?”

“New York, so don’t worry, no accidental run-ins unless you wish to visit.”

“I doubt it,” Petunia scoffs, as she walks into the room children are sleeping in, grabs the smaller one, the one with thunderbolt-like, slowly healing wound on his forehead, and pushes into Cereza’s outstretched arms. Then, she reaches for the letter, and places it atop of the bundle. “Good luck,” she says, and Cereza seems like a person who knows when she’s not wanted, so she just waltzes out. At that point, Petunia doesn’t care what happens to the Potter spawn, as long as all is handled legally and she’s not in any trouble.

And if Bayonetta secretly leaves a sigil in the house to call her in dire situation, call it a hunch.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

The child in her arms babbled, still half-asleep, as she read through the letter he was left with. For the first time, really, because she wasn’t going to open it the first time she had the chance, because that would’ve been just plain rude.

“Born thirty-first of July last year,” she muses to herself, half-reading the letter and keeping rest of her attention on the child. “Parents… Lily and James Potter, killed by… Lord Voldemort? Who on Inferno might that be?”

“ **Heard about him** ,” a voice she remembers says, and she snaps he head around only to see the same Hatred that informed her that the boy was already signed off to Hell, and was right, in fact. She felt the ominous, mortal-but-not presence in the child, another soul rammed into the tiny body, and as soon as she would figure how to explain it all to Rodin without having him freak out and draw his own conclusions, she was going to have the matter of said soul addressed properly.

“ **This… Voldemort**?” she asks, eyes narrowing. Who by their senses calls themselves ‘flight from death’? Death is a very important part of life, coming in its own time for absolutely any living creature. Because capability of dying is one of more important prospects that define living. That, and make it worth going through. Sometimes. Usually.

“ **Yes** ,” Hatred answers with an unsettling smile. “ **Just a rumor, but some lower-ranks spoke about him in the past years. There was one Hideous, though, that told me that Goblins both in Inferno and those on Earth were very, very unsettled by him. Scared, even. To the point they ended up actually hiring some higher-ranked Infernal bodyguards. Gossip, I know, but there’s a bit of truth everywhere.** ”

“ **Goblins? On Earth?** ” Bayonetta narrows her eyes, and Hatred chuckles.

“ **Difficult for boot to care for ants** ,” he says to her. “ **However, there are some ants that dab in magic. Weaker, more pathetic and not even strong enough to survive even one slice of my scythe- They call themselves wizards and witches, use wands and fly on brooms. Goblins work for them wherever there’s business to be made**.”

“ **You are right** ,” she nods. “ **I will hardly care for near-harmless mortals. But this little one- He is a wizard himself, is he not? I can feel some magic from him, however faint.** ”

“ **Most likely. And a piece of this Voldemort’s soul was rammed into him** ,” Hatred hums. “ **Nasty thing, but he feels more like an Umbran child now. Only, Umbran children aren’t meant for us since birth.** ”

Bayonetta glances at the demon. “ **Oh?** ”, but it only smiles. “ **You know some things. How much, then, would you like for your services? Do some digging around Inferno, asking for this whole ‘Voldemort’ and his deal?** ”

If that’s possible, Hatred’s grin widens. It was, perhaps, waiting for such offer.

“ **Have your weapon-smith look at my scythe, will be enough. I heard he’s the best,** ” it says and, just like that, disappears into thin air. It appears that she’ll have to mooch yet another favor from Rodin, then. And… Hatred says that the kid feels like an Umbran child, with the darkness rammed into him. Usually it’s inborn and doesn’t immediately sentence the child for Hell; only makes a possible pathway for it, but this time, the tiny bundle that is Harry Potter is barely over a year and destined to be doomed already. And Bayonetta is all for unconventional methods and ways of solving things.

Besides, how hard can raising a child be?

Harry burbles something, wide-awake now, fully aware even in Purgatorio and she smiles. This child is, surely, something else. And she be glorified if she fails to make this child into proper Umbra.

(She shudders at the thought. Obviously, she cannot become saint and go up, but the thought of being even considered one is enough to motivate her.)

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

“Whoever can tell me something about wand-wielding, broom-riding wizards gets a free drink, or two, or more, depending on quality and quantity of information both,” is the first thing Bayonetta says upon entering the Gates of Hell. And maybe it’s her luck, or complete lack of it, but Rodin is behind the counter, pouring Luka a shot, Jeanne is slowly making her way through her wine and Enzo is trying to sit properly on a stool that’s too tall for his short legs.

“Cereza, what-“ Jeanne says, and then stops dead, spotting the bundle in her arms. “By Sheba, you stole a child?!” she shrieks suddenly, and even Rodin jumps, not to mention the other two men.

“Now, now, Jeanne, what made you assume this?” Bayonetta asks with a sly smile.

“You really stole it!” Jeanne gasps, and she just rolls her eyes.

“Him. And no, I did not. Actually, I need Luka to do all adoption paperwork with me, so it’s good you’re here,” she smiles sweetly at the man, who just sighs, defeated before having chance to fight back.

“You do realize,” Rodin says, and she can swear he narrows his eyes behind his glasses, “that there’s a soul inside this kid? Bad, bad stuff. Nothing like I’ve ever seen before”

“A friendly Hatred briefed me on it, yes,” she nods, pretending to not to see how Rodin’s voice is laced with genuine interest, and smirks at the sound of it. ‘Friendly Hatred’, sweet Sheba, how ridiculous it sounds. And not only to her, as Rodin and Jeanne smirk, too. “Actually, speaking of which, they promised me to do some digging if you’d be so nice to take a look at their weapon.”

“Digging about what?” Luka asks, pushing his hat up.

“Man named Voldemort. A mortal rumored to make contact with Infernals without even proper training beforehand; let alone knowledge of Enochian, I’m guessing,” she says, pulling out a letter and handing it to Jeanne. “This is all the kid was left with by his former caretakers on a doorstep of his aunt’s house, in the middle of the night.”

Jeanne stops dead just before grabbing the paper, and looks at Bayonetta, silver eyes sharper than usual. “A doorstep?” she asks, rising to her feet, anger glimmering in her silver eyes.

“In the middle of November night,” Bayonetta adds cheerfully, and Enzo, absolutely alarmed and frightened by the fact, fails to keep his balance and falls from the bar stool with a yelp that sounds rather angry than surprised.

And so, Bayonetta smiles in a way that promises carnage and explains every single thing that happened in the three days she was absent. With details.

(And if Jeanne feels strong dislike to the man named Albus Dumbledore before even having a chance to meet him, well. Not that Bayonetta can blame her, really.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two of Snakes and Butterflies, alternatively titled "Bayonetta's Adventure in Parenthood, or how British Wizarding World Dug its Own Grave".

  1. **brittle, little, parasite**



Harry was laid on the counter, safely wrapped in a blue-and-green blanket that Rodin somehow produced ( _was there anything this man did **not** have behind the counter?_), to prevent him from rolling off the surface in any way. The boy was still half-asleep, subconsciously clutching to a colorful dagger sheath Rodin had given him for the time being. Bayonetta couldn’t blame the man, though – it was the most colorful and the safest thing he had around, with no detachable small pieces. The sheath’s former content was currently hung safely on the wall behind the weaponsmith.

Rodin was rummaging through a box of tools, most of which Bayonetta, much to her annoyance, did not recognize. The man insisted on removing the other soul before it had time to ‘settle in properly’, as he put it – it was bad enough that it already had a four-day head start in accommodation.

“You are absolutely certain that this will not pain or harm the boy, yes?” Bayonetta asks, eyes narrow, and Jeanne to her left snorts. The raven witch, however, seems to not to notice her Umbran sister at all.

“It will itch the kid, for sure,” Rodin muses, inspecting one tool after another, looking for the proper one. ( _How deep is that case of his anyway? Wait- Did he just put a whole arm in it?!_ ) “It would be nothin’ if it was few hours old. Now it’s latched on a bit more, so I’m gonna have to tear it out. For now it’s like glued to him with fresh paper glue.”

“If you say so,” Jeanne inquires politely before Bayonetta can. “You think you can tinker with it, though?” blonde asks with genuine curiosity.

“Nah,” comes an instant, flippant reply. “It might be heavily influenced by Inferno magic, but this is, by no means, an Infernal. It’s just a mortal. Nasty, sticky, and exceptionally fragile, even for human kind. Something akin to Umbra, but then, saying this alone would be an offense to your kind. Can’t build a thing from that piece, though. It’d be like trying to build a castle with only dry sand. That, and it’s incomplete.”

“Understandable,” Bayonetta agrees with a nod, allowing the slightly-more awake Harry to grab onto one of her earrings as she moves over him. The child babbles something in its own language and then gives out a shrieking laugh, much to sensitive witch’s ears dismay. She doesn’t do more than wince, however. “What will you do with it, then?”

“Keep it in a jar,” Rodin shrugs. “Give to kid as a token, maybe later explain what it is to begin with. Might come in handy on later date, and gods know that this kid is most predisposed to keep it.”

“Why you think so?” raven-haired witch asks.

“Because it’s technically his already. Whoever put it in lost their rights to it the second they did, the right of conquest and all that jazz,” the weaponsmith shrugs and Bayonetta hums in acknowledgement, slightly distantly, as she unhooks her earring from her earlobe and allows the child to play with it, watching carefully if it’s not too dangerous for Harry. She always thought it ridiculous on how easily she attached to children – she, a witch, the last person one would point as mother material. But then, well, everybody had their quirks.

Enzo was nowhere to be seen, or even heard. Apparently, the man decided it would just be best to go to his wife, Mary, explain everything to her, and return with the woman and food for the child. As much as Bayonetta scoffed at the idea, this time she had to admit he was right – she had no idea how to properly handle a one-year-old baby, and could really use a tip or two from a woman who managed to successfully raise two of hers past toddlerhood. Up from there, the witch was fairly certain, she was going to do swimmingly, if the child was only mobile and able to communicate with her in something else than screaming and crying. And Bayonetta only ever watched over children who were well past the toddlerhood – her younger self who was a grown child, and Loki, who was a young teen.

(Or so he acted. She hardly cared for how old Aesir was. Or Loptr. The Loki she knew was a bratty young teenager with masculinity issues he shouldn’t have that age. Although, she did appreciate him back-talking to Luka, it was priceless.)

But right now Harry Potter, her adopted son soon to be, was a small, delicate, fragile creature, and for someone used to murdering things, throwing trucks and kicking jets sky high, being gentle could prove to be a challenge, actually. It’s not like Bayonetta would have time to settle – it’s very unlikely that Laguna would ever sign her off for a year or two of maternity leave.

Somewhere among her thoughts, Luka slips back into the Gates of Hell, almost too quietly for a human.

“How’s it going?” he asks, sitting within a reasonable distance, as he still carries the November chill with him, nose red and subconsciously rubbing his fingers. Because, apparently, the man is beyond comprehending the fact that Bayonetta had made a conscious decision ( _ha_!) to settle down ( _you wish, Luka_ ) in order to raise a child.The walk most likely did help, though, as he looked much less puzzled than he did when he left.

(Of all people, it was Luka who had seen her care for both little Cereza and Loki. He should’ve been the first to know that she was _very much capable_ of being a mother. Perhaps.)

But then, responsible Bayonetta might just be a thing none of her inner circle is actually able to comprehend. It was understandable, actually.

“I’m about to start right now,” Rodin says suddenly, finally having found the specific device he has been looking for – or, pieces of it, as he twists a silver fork-like material to a dark handle, trimmed with blue, glowing gems. Then, he takes a glassy, translucent gem-like objects and inserts it between arms of the fork. “I’ll go slowly, and it’s not latched on too tight yet, so it should only itch at most,” weaponsmith twists the device again, and it flares to life with a cackle like electricity, and a wave of condensed, suffocating and undeniably ancient magic.

Bayonetta, however, has long since stopped wondering where Rodin gets all those items from, or even his knowledge. She suspects that he might, in fact, be old enough to remember The World before it even became Trinity, and that alone was a literal eternity ago.

Harry eyes the wand-like object with undeniable curiosity, but keeps nibbling one of Bayonetta’s triangle-shaped, blue earrings she likes quite a lot. The child shows no fear whatsoever when Rodin slowly moves the glowing and twirling, empty gem closer to the wound – irritated, whether from lack of treatment or the rammed soul, Bayonetta does not know. For Petunia’s sake, she hopes it’s the latter.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, black, oily liquid slowly, gruesomely starts to ooze from the mark, and black, gas-like substance starts to emit as well. It’s not a pretty sight at all, and the scent is not nice either – it smells like burning, chocking, biting, _itching_. Like plastic or flesh, all at the same time.

“The hell-?!” Luka gasps, covering his mouth with his palm, as Rodin grits his teeth and strengthens his grip on the device. Jeanne turns her head around and coughs quietly, and only Bayonetta seems unaffected, too focused on gently gripping Harry’s tiny hand with hers.

Nobody answers the man, focusing on Rodin and the child instead. Within moments a thick, black, liquid-y smoke starts to ooze directly from the mark and it _fights_. Rodin grips his tool tighter, so tight his knuckles go white, and tugs. And then, the smoke tugs back hard enough that he steps forward, albeit not much. And the smell gets even worse, thicker, like smog in big cities and toxic waste. Harry seems unaffected by the struggle, though, but rather visibly irritated and trying to bring his tiny hands to the mark. That, however, is swiftly prevented by Bayonetta, as she grabs his hands and gently intones Fly me to the Moon, the very same song her mother used to sing to her.

“Almost, you tough motherfffff-“ Rodin hisses, and tugs, hard. Everything – every single thing, the oozing oily liquid, the gas, the black smoke, the smell – everything is suddenly absorbed into the formerly crystal-clear oval gem. Rodin steps back hard with the momentum of the pull, as if not quite expecting to win just yet, and hits his back with one of shelves, and leans on it, panting heavily. And that was just a soul of a mortal – no wonder he usually ends up all bloodied and bruised when he extracts actual Infernals and Laguna.

He takes the gem, which is now stained with black. It looks like a glass ellipse that someone somehow put black smoke inside, and the smoke changes, and shifts, and rams at the walls. But the walls stay, firm and strong, no matter what it does.

Harry squirms and babbles something quite cheerfully, and Bayonetta is happy to notice that his mark looks much less irritated that it did before. It looks like a small cut now, and is bound to heal nicely. She is sure it will scar, with how long it remained unhealed, but it won’t really be that much visible, especially as the boy ages. She wonders, too, would the soul actually prevent it from completely healing? It was quite possible. But she will never find out with it gone, and she wouldn’t want to anyway.

“What the hell?!” Luka asks again, visibly spooked, eyeing the gem warily.

“That was the soul,” Rodin states the obvious fact, and makes it known that he does. “Nasty piece of work, eh?”

“Why was it so black? And what was with that smell?!” Luka inquires.

“It was just as rotten as the one who put it in kid’s scar,” weaponsmith shrugs, placing the gem in box different than one with his tools. “I’ll wrap it all nice in steel and silver and kid will have animated pendant as a token later on. How does that sound? Maybe I’ll have an idea what to do with it later. As in, years later, if I figure how to make a mortal soul work.”

“Fine by me,” Bayonetta nods.

“Well, it was rammed in Harry’s scar,” Jeanne nods. “Whatever it truly is, boy should keep it. It’s his now.”

And that was exactly the moment when door to the pub croaked open, and wards against anything more inhuman than Umbra or Lumen flared in warning. Within split of a second Rodin, Bayonetta and Jeanne were up in arms, as they eyed rather slim figure, all clad in armor, with horn-like red crescent moon halves coming out of the sides of its head, and wing-like plates on its arms. Upon seeing this, Bayonetta huffed and relaxed her stance, vanishing Love is Blue out of sight. Jeanne eyed her friend briefly, but did the same.

“ **Hello, Hatred** ,” Bayonetta inquires in Enochian. “ **I didn’t expect you here quite this soon**.”

“ **Neither did I,** ” Hatred answers. “ **And as much as I hate to be some sort of errand runner, I was addressed by a goblin earlier today,** ” The Infernal swiftly produced an envelope, handing it to the witch. Bayonetta accepts it, and frowns.

“ **Parchment?** ” she asks. “ **Who even uses this anymore?** ”

Hatred shrugs, “ **I said I got it from a goblin. He urged me to address it to Lady Cereza of the Left Eye as soon as I could. Let me say it again, too; I am NOT an errand runner. I shall not be delivering the reply**.”

“A goblin? On Earth? How curious,” Jeanne pipes in.

“Goblins?” Luka asks, cocking his head to the side.

“One of lowest-ranked Infernals. Strength-wise, at least,” Bayonetta answers. “They are smart, though, and do business even better than Rodin. Speaking of which, as you’re already here, Hatred, give him that weapon of yours to see. Put it on my bill, Rodin.”

Hatred nods, takes the scythe from where it’s latched onto Infernals’ back and hands it to the weaponsmith. Rodin scoffs, as he eyes it critically, then he turns to Bayonetta; “see the letter first. I’m curious myself.”

The witch sighs, nods, and opens the envelope.

 _Honored Lady Cereza of the Left Eye, current Head of the Umbran Clan_ , it reads.

_We are writing to you in order to express our delight in You taking interest in young Heir Apparent Harry Potter, son of sadly deceased lord James C. Potter and his wife, Lady Lilly J. Potter of the house Evans. We wish to inform You that we have been instructed by Sir Albus Dumbledore to auction and sell all the Potter and Evans family heirlooms and give most of the money for the case of Order of the Phoenix, secret Wizarding War Organization, as per Lord James Potter’s request. However, as soon as it was brought to us that You took interest in the last remaining heir to the Potter fortune, we held all the auctions, and when we learned that You expressed Your interest in taking the child as your own, we took back all the investments, thus leaving young Harry James Potter with majority of his family wealth._

_We may be inquired upon to follow mister Dumbledore and his instructions, but we easily recognize the true power of this world, which is You, Lady Cereza, and Your clan sister, Lady Jeanne d’Arc, and going against Your wishes is the last thing we would consider doing – or any goblin by their senses on that matter._

_As of those facts, we politely inquire You to contact the Gringotts Wizarding Bank, whether be it the main house in Great Britain or the branch in United States of America, in order to retrieve whatever mementos You wish Heir Apparent Harry Potter to be in possession of, and to further decide whatever shall we do with the wealth, whether keepsake it until young mister reaches age of majority, or use it in his favor._

_Halting the investments also allowed us to determine that Lord James C. Potter willed the porperties to one Albus Dumbledore under duress. It shall be investigated._

_With best regards,_

_Gringotts Wizarding Bank Customer Assistant, Bloodfang._

_Post Scriptum: All the details in favor of further correspondence are within included note._

Bayonetta raises her eyebrow, “very polite for a goblin. Hm, Wizarding Bank, they say?” she muses. “Luka, I believe I have a job for you.”

“Whatever do you want to know about those Wizards?” man ask courtly, flashing her a smile that he most likely dubbed as charming, but she saw as idiotic.

“Anything you can find, Luka,” Bayonetta smiles. “Which means, of course, everything there is to know.”

“I’m glad you gave such faith in me,” he winks at her, and, just like that, waltzes through the door.

“ **He’s an idiot** ,” Hatred notices, earning a snort from Jeanne.

“ **This idiot is quite useful. Actually, he’s decent company, too, when you look past his ‘charming’ act** ,” Jeanne laughs, earning an amused smile from Bayonetta, who currently has her hands full of Harry, rocking herself back and forth on the bar stool, much to child’s glee, if happy babbles are any indication.

“Your scythe is quite well-made, for something so crude,” Rodin says suddenly, not bothering with Enochhian, tapping one of blades. “But, as I said, it’s pretty crude.”

“ **We don’t have a very good weaponsmith down home, and they want ridiculous amount of halos for their work** ,” Hatred hisses.

“Tell them they’re shi- Awful. Very awful,” Rodin says, instantly correcting himself at the sweetest smile Bayonetta ever offered him. A smile that promised bloodshed and homicide had he decided to finish the word in the presence of Harry. “Well, I’ll just see what I have in stock. Don’t have anything strong, though, just Laguna to work with.”

At that, Hatred’s bloody-red eyes widen, and Infernal looks at witches in disbelief, as Rodin excuses himself and vanishes behind the door, muttering something about ‘shit quality trash’. “ **He’s going to give me a Laguna-infused weapon**?” it asks.

“ **Well, yes** ,” Jeanne shrugs. “ **Rodin doesn’t sell empty weapons, really. He won’t have much Paradiso themed weapons, though, since Sages are long since gone. He has those basics, I’m guessing, because he doesn’t want to fall out of practice.** ”

Harry babbles something in baby language, then laughs, and reaches for the demon. Well, it is, after all, quite red and overall colorful, and since Gates of Hell are outside any laws of logic, it can be seen by anyone when inside – even a baby that has no comprehension of anything whatsoever, let alone magic. Hatred decides to indulge the child, as it moves closer, and offers a clawed hand, red, blue and black, and Bayonetta uses the distraction to slip the recovered earring back where it should be.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Harry very visibly enjoys the banana-apple puree Mary Ferino brought with her, and a fresh diaper as well which was, much to Rodin’s horror, changed on the counter. And then, he was tasked with disposing of used one. Worst day of his life, period.

“Don’t you two, like, live in a flat? Quite big, but in the center of the city– loud and polluted?” Mary says between the spoons she airplanes into Harry’s mouth. “Hardly a place for a child.”

“We’ve been meaning to move, the apartment was just temporary and we hardly even furnished it,” Jeanne shrugs. Of course, by ‘hardly even furnished’ she means rather expensive yet lacking set from a catalogue she bought just because it looked nice with some of her clothes. “I’ve been searching for offers and then talking them over with Cereza, but the child rules out few possibilities instantly.”

“Too bad,” Bayonetta pouts. “I liked the studio by that store with neon outline.”

“But I think I know which one we’ll agree,” Jeanne continues, and magically takes a picture out of her pocket, which grows in her hand. It’s of a large, two-story, brown, quite modern looking house, that still has in it some villa-y touch. “It has pretty big garden, and is meant for family bigger than six plus guests and pets, but I hardly think anyone will mind – I feel the house will be full more often than not. Luka will often drop by, and you and the kids are also welcome, for which we’ll need at least three guest rooms. It’s in a quite peaceful village in New York state, the Great Neck Estates, actually, and with a pleasantly dense forrestation around. And I actually talked to one of our future neighbors already.”

“Oh?” Bayonetta looks at Jeanne’s rambling from where Mary shows her how to properly feed Harry.

“He’s quite old and quite odd, but a nice guy,” Jeanne continues. “Raised three of his kids, horde of grandkids, has many nieces and nephews, too, and now is awaiting his first great-grandchild – though, he really doesn’t look his age, so I’m thinking he might be one of those wand-using wizards.”

“And your point is?” Bayonetta inquires.

“That if we’re busy, we could ask him to babysit Harry. He and his wife successfully raised a horde of children, so I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t mind few hours,” Jeanne explains. “His name is Newton Scamander, and his wife is Porpentina. They live with another man I believe they somehow informally adopted? Well, ewton said it was his assistant. He has quite odd name- Credence, I think. Who on earth names a child ‘credence’?”

“Okay, I’ve officially heard the weirdest name yet,” Mary raises her hands. “Did I really think that Ed and Edna were so weird when you insisted?” she looks at Enzo, who just scratched his neck in answer. “Anyway, ladies, we’re due some baby shopping!”

“Now that’s the talk I like!” Bayonetta smiles slyly, and so does Jeanne. Enzo just groans in exasperation, because, well, who do you think is going to carry it all?

“I’m sure Harry will look marvelous in an emerald-green onesie,” Jeanne nods. “Or Viridian, Shamrock green, India green- Honestly, who would’ve thought there can be so many ways to dress a child?”

All three women laughed in union, and Enzo only groaned, even more exasperated. How was he going to say no not only to the two withes, but to his wife on top of that?

He wasn’t. Doing the impossible on daily basis was Bayonetta’s thing, not his.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we step in the crossover with Fantastic Beasts. And yes, I'm throwing out everything that came after the ending of the first movie. Bad JKR, bad!

  1. **new witch in town**



“I’m so glad that you decided to move to our neighborhood! It is always most welcome to see fresh faces come, indeed- I daresay, it was getting quite dull here until you moved!”

If Jeanne hadn’t told her that Newton Scamander was, in fact, nearing his hundredth birthday, Bayonetta would never say he was older than fifty, at most. His hair wasn’t even fully grayed yet, as there still were present strands of pale brown, strawberry blonde and dirty blonde. He wasn’t even that much wrinkled on face, except around eyes and mouth – signs of excessive smiling. In the past, Bayonetta concluded shortly, he must’ve been quite an attractive young man, if in a gentle way – he kind of reminded her of an overcooked noodle with his soft features, but it wasn’t a necessarily bad thing in his case. And, of course, he was still handsome – only, Bayonetta really wasn’t into visibly older men. Or those who were already married or engaged for that matter. Anybody else was pretty much free game, if only to be subject of her flirting – she really had no interest in long-standing romantic relationships.

“I’m glad as well. My sister has been pressing to move for a while, and ever since I choose to adopt little Harry here, my friend’s wife did, too,” Bayonetta answers, as politely as possible and looks over to where Porpentina ( _call me Tina, dear_!) Scamander keeps cooing over the child. Bayonetta noted that the time was kind to the woman as well – her hair was paler, dulled version of dark brown she most likely once had, and had only seldom silver strands woven within.

There are also critters running on and about the house, many of which Bayonetta doesn’t recognize. There’s that echidna-like mole that tries its best to steal her glimmering bracelet, much to her amusement, and there are branch-like, little humanoids moving around on Newt’s coat and hair. Not to mention those cat-like alien creatures with ridiculously big eyes and ears, that look more like gremlins than actual cats. Both Scamanders tend to chuckle nervously whenever they spot her eyes following one of creatures, and Newton actually looks like he’s about to throw himself after the echidna-mole thief.

“That’s so very kind of you!” Tina smiles. “Did you know his parents?”

“Sadly, no,” Bayonetta shakes her head. “I do assume, however, that most of Wizarding World- That’s how you call it, yes? – did or do know James and Lily Potter. And their murderer. I believe he was called Voldemort. I do find it particularly amusing, though, for a mortal to call himself ‘a death thief’. For me it rather seemed he preferred thieving _lives_ , just like he did to his parents and tried to do to Harry a month ago. To be honest, the second translation of _vol_ , which is _to flee_ , doesn’t make the meaning any better, because he pretty much waltzed into his own demise,” she tuts.

Newt eyes her, looking at her rather than somewhere else for the first time, sharp and piercing, as if judging. It’s flattering, really.

“Who are you?” he asks suddenly, visibly torn between the decision – reach for the wand or not? – and quite uneasy. “The wizarding world fears He-Who-Must-Be-Named even here, in the States. Ordinary people don’t say his name.”

Bayonetta chuckles; “Ordinary people don’t treat fifteen centuries as a lower line of usual lifespan, nor have a tea with demons every Sunday, either,” she smiles, and his eyes widen.

“This boy-“ Tina cuts it. “This is Harry Potter, is he not? I read the papers from Britain.”

“The very one,” Bayonetta agrees. “The same that Dumbledore left on his aunts doorstep in the middle of cold, November night, with nothing but a thin blanket and a letter. His perfectly non-magic aunt, who, I daresay, allow me to use this formula, had absolutely no intention of taking care of this, let me quote, ‘freak of Potter and my wretched sister’.”

“On a doorstep!” Tina nearly squeaked in mortification. “Pardon me, dear, if I thought you have a few loose screws, but this Dumbledore- Sweet Merlin, what was he thinking? And to an aunt who obviously was unfit to raise him?!”

“That is all very alarming, what was the old fool thinking, but- Why are you telling us all this? Just who are you, miss Byonetta?”

“Well, I’d rather have you well-informed of the situation the boy is in, keeping in mind that you will be little Harry’s first and only, for at least ten years from what I know, contact with Wizarding World of his parents,” she purrs, and takes a sip of her tea. “Now, mister Scamander, tell me. What do you know of Umbra Witches, Lumen Sages and the Trinity of Realms?”

Newton gasps, and his eyes widen and lit up at the same time. From where she’s playing with Harry, Tina only rolls her eyes, and Bayonetta starts her story.

(The Scammanders are good people. They deserve to know, at the very least, that they might eventually end up targeted by Paradiso for just association with Umbra.)

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Jeanne was mildly amused, as she watched Luka play peak-a-boo with the giggling child. The man came over to help them with moving, having collected a bit of information in the States and wanting to help before he would move for Britain. However, he wasn’t exactly strong enough to move heavy furniture that women preferred, like heavy, dark, mahogany table or black couches that were soft and fluffy, but their weight was beyond human muscle power, so he was instead, which most likely deeply scarred his manly pride, given task of watching Harry up until the two witches furnished their rooms. It went quickly, really, with them magically putting the pieces of furniture together, and then easily pushing them into the place.

“You have a meeting appointed with goblins later today, don’t you two?” he asks, as Bayonetta easily and gently places a very heavy-looking couch in the center of the saloon. Jeanne soon beings two equally massive armchairs as if they are made out of styrofoam, not dark, heavy wood, metal and thick fabric.

“Yes,” blonde witch agrees. “We asked Rodin to care for Harry while we’re gone. Few hours, no more – he has already installed a baby pen behind the counter, where nobody would see it.”

“Poor old man,” Bayonetta chuckles, positioning the coffee table to stand in line with the couch. “So afraid to show others he cares, and he cares so much.”

“Is it really safe?” Luka asks, standing up, arms full of Harry who had taken interest to man’s hat. “The goblins, I mean. Is meeting them safe?”

“Cheshire, dear,” Bayonetta sighs, “goblins are smarter than most Infernals, save for the oldest of demons that lived millennia and seen things that just make them wise beyond comprehension. You saw the letter, did you not? Goblins are hardly ever polite, from what I’ve heard, but that letter was even excessively polite. They might be the last creatures on Earth to remember the Umbra, and they know better than to piss one off.”

“The letter made it seem like Dumbledore was someone quite important,” Jeanne added. “And yet, they instantly went against the guy in our favor. That says a bit about their respect towards us and what we are.”

Luka hums and nods, and then seats himself comfortably in one of massive, dark armchairs. They’re soft and nice to touch, easily bending underneath his weight. Something one would find in grandma’s house rather than in some neo-fashioned room. But the day room was just like that – a fireplace, golden walls, fluffy carpets on warmed, dark-oak floor. A fireplace before him, furniture, too, made out of dark oak, massive and sturdy. Armchairs were big, and the couch was absolutely gigantic, easily able to fit four or more people on. There weren’t any paintings, trinkets or plants on, though, as of yet. Bayonetta decided she’d rather go seethe goblins first, to see if there weren’t any left by Harry’s parents. She was very adamant at that the boy should know exactly who he was and exactly what happened to him early on.

Bayonetta hated secrets and manipulations. She was allergic to them, or so she claimed. She hardly ever lied, and if she was lied to… Well. It was bound to end badly. Very badly. Hardly anyone liked being lied to, but the raven-haired Umbra surely took it to new extremes.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Bayonetta is, of course, dressed to impress, but that’s just how she is. This time, however, her outfit covers more than it reveals, and that is a change, but apparently she decided there was no point in flashing her curves at other Infernals. And so she sat there, in black shirt embroiled with gold, cobalt office coat and pants, with golden accessories. Jeanne wasn’t too far away, either – in red fit and flare dress, white stockings and red heels, with her unnaturally long hair in loose braid, thrown over one shoulder, whole image full of silver jewelry. Appearance-wise, they were always perfect opposites – where Bayonetta wore gold, Jeanne wore silver, with her red-and-white mixture clashing her friends black-and-blue design.

The trip to Britain wasn’t difficult, really. All it took was step into Gates of Hell to drop Harry for Rodin, get stared at by Rodin and Hatred who apparently took to spending more time in the bar than back home downstairs, and then open one of many passages the bar had in London. From there, it was a trip to Diagon Alley, which was actually quite easy – both witches visited the place five hundred years prior as Umbran trainees, and the entrance hadn’t changed that much since. Except, maybe, it was more finished than the building zone back then. And from there, getting to Gringotts was really a piece of cake – with the building standing out like a sore, marble thumb in the middle of the dark, dusty street.

True to what Hatred said, there were Infernals in the bank. Two golem-like Prides, few of Hideous and one Hatred leading them, a bit of Malicious – even a Sloth napping undisturbed in the corner. But then, that was a bank, and there was money, and goblins valued money above all. They were, obviously, very much willing to hire the best for protection. Bayonetta really didn’t blame the with their distrust towards humans, and Infernals weren’t Angels – if they promised to do something, they would do it.

For the right price, of course.

They were both at ease as Bloodfang went through the list of Harry’s properties. They were officially his already, but he would be able to govern them only after he accepted Potter family ring, and thus became his Head of the House at age of seventeen, or earlier, had he been emancipated – for some reason Bayonetta did not bother to learn from wizarding customs, a miss she would most likely have to rectify relatively soon, and until then, they would all be under the care of Bayonetta, his legal guardian. The sheer amount of the child’s family heritage was enough to put both witches at ease – Harry would most likely ever need to work in his life with what he owned.

(But then again, Angelic Halos had _insane_ exchange rate, so even if he didn’t have Potter Lordship, a group of angels would set him up for _years_.)

And that was just the Potters. Bloodfang informed both women that as his guardians in every way, could freely access his vaults, but only his heir ones. And he very boldly implied that Harry should take heritage test after he turned eleven and was re-introduced to the wizarding world, to see if Potter Lordship was the only one he was holding. It wasn’t uncommon for wizards with their lines at the brink of extinction to write down specifics of inheritance for someone not of family, if said person had meet all the points.

That, and Bloodfang outright said that Harry pretty much now owned everything Lord Voldemort – Lord No-Name now, to be specific – ever had by the Right of Conquest. He was smiling rather widely at this, so Bayonetta assumed it was something rather big, but except for the information on what Right of Conquest was, he refused other more unless Harry himself was present. It basically meant that if one Head of the House waged war on another, the winner would get everything and looser – loose everything. Voldemort waged a war on Potters – killing James, Lilly became the head, and with her death – Harry did, and as much Bayonetta was certain it was something Lilly did that had gotten rid of Voldemort, it still accounted as the Right of Conquest – for when she did, she was the Head, and all that hers was passed onto her heir.

(Bayonetta was, however, very bothered at wills of his parents being sealed. By Albus Dumbledore. Only Harry after age of thirteen could unseal them, so she left it for later, but her disdain for the man only seemed to grow today. Grow and grow. At least Jeanne was fully with her on this.)

Three estates, five farms with a range of specialization varying between magical creatures and plants neither witch actually heard about, and five vaults, aside from the one his parents left him ‘just in case’ filled with artifacts, trinkets, furniture and many, many more things. Just of the Potter Lordship.

Bayonetta was certain that Heir Test would reveal more, but for that they had to still wait nearly a decade.

(And, of course, a lot of Galleons. Counted in millions.

By the way, Halos and Demon Orbs had absolutely ridiculous exchange rate. Singularly they were worth a small fortune. But then, that was to be expected, as they weren’t seen by Goblins in centuries. Umbra and Lumen had hegemony on those, and there were only so many of the former, and none of the latter.

And Dumbledore trying to make withdraws from Potter’s vault, something both witches put an instant, firm and loud veto to – and demanded persecutions and satisfaction. Nobody would steal from Harry – not now, not ever. And if goblins smiled a bit more sinisterly, well. Bloodthirsty little fuckers indeed – good to know some things never change.)

When Bloodfang mentioned goblin’s mentality of goblin-made objects belonging to a person only for duration of their life, and then being returned… All it took was quirk of eyebrow and a glint in an eye for him to start proposing proper prices for the trinkets his people would most likely like to have back. All the propositions were effectively shot down, however, with one simple ‘ask Harry in fifteen or so years’.

And then, about an hour later, both witches and the goblin found themselves in a cart, gliding along the tracks, passing by great many vault doors.

“Wizards, of course, don’t store money alone in here,” Bloodfang explains as the cart slows. “Actually, they tend to keep trinkets and artifacts here, too – for all their hate for our race, their faith in our security is unwavering. A great deal of the trinkets are magically infused and cause problems in households, but are valuable, and these caves are pretty much magic-proof. Wizarding magic-proof, of course. I’d rather not try and see if an Umbran kick could shatter these walls.”

“It most likely could,” Jeanne chuckles, gracefully hopping out of the cart after the Infernal. Bloodfang didn’t seem all too happy about the statement, but didn’t push the matter

“Well, no matter. In this vault we have retrieved the personal belongings of Harry Potter’s late parents from their last place of residence in Godric Hollow. We also put a very firm veto on allowing the site to be turned into a memorial, and sealed it away as a part of young Heir Potter heritage, howevr ruined wouldn’t it currently be. As of the vault, in we have portraits, school supplies, clothing, furniture, et cetera, belonging to his late parents and himself. We retrieved their wands as well, but I doubt they will be of any use for young mister. From what I know, only certain combinations of everything, including even length and flexibility, are capable of properly resonating with wizard’s power,” goblin explains. “Harry’s magic is most likely different than that of his parents, therefore their wands likely won’t work for him, so I suggest you just frame and hang them instead.”

“Why, that’s a sound idea!” Bayonetta claps her hands with a smile, and Bloodfang manages a crooked smile of his own. He visibly struggles to be polite, as well, and both witches appreciate the fact. Goblins are widely known for being very much rude and overall unpleasant. But here was also Bayonetta, who was widely known to have literally went to hell just for her friend, and returned unscratched. Not a feat many can admit to – if any at all.

They enter the vault after the heavy door let go and move to the side, and even Bayonetta doesn’t bother to suppress a whistle. The vault is very spacious, and filled up to the ceiling with everything.

“Now, that’s something I like,” Jeanne smiles, walking over to a hanging portrait. It showed a woman, rather pretty, with fiery-red hair and eyes green like fresh grass. “And that must be Lily. Those are definitely Harry’s eyes.”

“Pretty thing she was, indeed,” Bayonetta agrees, looking through her shoulder from where she’s rummaging through what apparently is pile of baby clothes and toys. “I know we did some shopping for Harry on our own, but I don’t think he has an onesie with an actually animated dragon,” she chuckles, holding up the white clothing with green dragon printed on, constantly flexing its wings. Jeanne chuckles as well, and moves around to see more things.

“This furniture is nice,” she decides after a while. It’s heavy and sturdy, just as they like. Pale, creamy pearwood instead of the mahogany they favor, but pretty nonetheless. “We have some rooms yet to furnish, do we not?”

“Jeanne, we barely have a living room, kitchen, bathroom and makeshift bedroom so we could sell that wretched flat as fast as possible, and I’d like to remind you that all furniture we have currently is from there,” Bayonetta chuckles, carefully looking through porcelain service set. It’s beautiful, finely sculpted, hand-painted in flowers and trimmed with gold. “I dare to say that we need everything that isn’t living room or kitchen. And- Oh, that crib has animated paintings on it, too! Harry is going to love it!”

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Everything definitely starts to look more homely, with a whole wall full of portraits and pictures of James and Lily Potter, most of them animated, young parents with an armful of a giggling baby, with their wands hung under their respective painted portraits. Shelves and surfaces are suddenly full of porcelain dolls, sculptures and metal idols. Also, toys, tucked away here and there so they would always be handy. Teddy bear here, blocks there, teether somewhere around, because Harry was definitely the age when babies finally grow teeth – and that was an unpleasant thing to anybody, really. And Bayonetta, for once, wearing loose, plain and comfortable jumpsuit instead of tight-fitting, showy outfits, and pink bunny slippers instead of heels.

(It was stupid, but standing only a bit above six feet made her feel short. She really did not care that this was borderline tall height for men, really. She liked towering over people.)

Harry was safely secured at her hip with tendrils of raven hair holding him in place, as Bayonetta prepared him porridge, tightly following the recipe Mary left her aside wishes of best luck. She didn’t burn the kitchen yet, so that was a success. Actually, in the end, she managed it pretty well, and also edible. Win-win.

She knew Harry at this age should be able of pathetic, wobbly excuse of a walk, but, well. Call her overprotective, but she wasn’t setting him down until Jeanne got her that walker. Actually, that and few other baby supplies that weren’t the absolute necessities were the reason of the blonde’s absence.

“Am, am!” Harry burbles and Bayonetta chuckles at that, sitting herself in the living room.

“Yes, am,” she agrees. “Here comes your chocolate porridge. You like chocolate, yes?”

“Yeh! Am!” Harry baby-talks again, all giddy and impatient, and basically leaps at the spoon when Bayonetta airplanes it to his mouth. At least he isn’t picky when it comes to food. Yet.

And this is how Jeanne sees her no longer than five minutes later, arms full of shopping bags, and a man behind her in tow, slightly less packed with supplies, but apparently someone Jeanne bullied into helping her when she ran out of hands herself.

If time was kind to Tina and Newt Scamander, then it apparently overlooked Credence Barebone almost completely. He was tall, almost as tall as heel-less Bayonetta, with long, wavy, raven hair and lean body. He was rather handsome at that, no signs of graying hair – either vitality or hair dye. Or a sophisticated charm, perhaps. And, for crying out loud, he was supposed to be around seventy. But, of course, he looked to be in late thirties, very eventually in early forties. Honestly, Bayonetta was starting to get amazed by lifespan of people of wizarding world. A token from when Umbra and Lumen were still thriving and actually having children with them, most likely. A recessive trait, more powerful in some instances, like this, perhaps. Good blood and strong magic with Umbran touch.

There’s a feel to him, too, like an Infernal taint, but not quite enough to mark him for downstairs on the spot. As if he was destined to go to hell, but somehow found a way to fix it, and that itself was almost impossible. It’s a widely known fact; once you’re blacklisted by posh, stick-ups upstairs, there’s only down.

“Enzo wasn’t available?” Bayonetta asks, cross-legged on the carpet with Harry in her lap, as she unpacks the walker. Her attention is mostly on it – polished plastic, and it smells so new, it’s sturdy but weights little. But then, ‘lightweight’ is a relative term for someone who bench-presses cars for a warm-up.

“After what he went through last time, he deemed us demons from hell and refused to go shopping with us – his wife included – for ‘however long it takes’, whatever he meant, and Credence so kindly offered to help me bring those in. Otherwise I’d have to make more rounds,” Jeanne snorts, offering a cup of coffee to Credence, that he accepts.

“Demons from hell?” Bayonetta smirks, setting the walker on the floor and placing Harry in. The giddy toddler is padding in it almost instantly. She looks at her sister and smiles some more. “Now, now, I had no idea he could be such a flatterer.”

They sit for a while in silence, save for Harry’s excited burbles as he admires his walker. Except for Credence, who maybe doesn’t look uncomfortable, but definitely rather gloomy.

“Is something troubling you, Credence?” Jeanne asks, attentive witch she is, and the man sighs heavily.

“It was Tom- I mean, Voldemort, was it not? The one who killed his parents?” he asks, looking at his reflection is clear, dark liquid.

“Yes,” Bayonetta nods, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I- He approached me, years ago. He was still in school. I sensed that there was something wrong with him. He wasn’t capable of feeling properly, and, well. I tried to help him, but I think I’ve only made it worse. I could have stopped him before he became Voldemort, I- God-“

“Don’t call upon those who do not listen,” Jeanne murmurs.

“Pardon?” he looks at her, actually shocked.

“I said, do not pray upon those that don’t listen. Those stuck-up asshats up there,” blonde nods to the ceiling, “care only if you have something for them.”

“Oh, well. Okay,” he nods.

“But do tell,” Bayonetta asks. “We fear we might encounter Voldie once again- Or, Harry might, at least. I can’t have him unprepared when that madman decides to finish what he started.”

“Voldemort is a man named Tom Marvolo Riddle, and a halfblood wizard. His mother was a witch, a squib, really, who used a love potion on a No-Maj. When she got pregnant, she stopped, assuming he loved her, but he didn’t, and he left her. She died in childbirth in orphanage, where Tom remained. Because of the love potion being used to conceive him, he’s not capable of feeling love- Or so he claims,” Credence sighs, and rubs his eyes. “He was powerful and ambitious, but troubled. Dabbed in dark magic, too. I got to him too late, I believe. It was already after he learned of his ancestry. I’m certain that the true turning point in his life was the murder of his No-Maj family of his father. And Dumbledore didn’t make it easier either-“

“I’m feeling more and more like turning Dumbledore into a damned toad,” Jeanne growls, rolling her eyes. “First indirectly leading to creation of- Whatever Voldie is, wizard’s equivalent of Boogeyman, except real? Yeah. And then leaving Harry on a doorstep in the middle of late autumn night!”

“Jeanne, toads are classic but cliché,” Bayonetta clicks her tongue. “Go with bald rat.”

“I thought Tina was exaggerating,” Credence huffs into his cup, still sad over Voldemort but also irritated and maybe somehow amused.

“Well, she wasn’t,” Bayonetta sighs. “Look, kid-“

Cue offended snort.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m nearly six centuries old, so you’re a kid to me. Everybody is, to be honest – as far as I know, only Eilehan, the oldest Umbran Witch to ever – and still – exist is older than us, but she has few screws loose and is currently on vacation in Hell. She went there herself, mind you, because life here wasn’t apparently interesting enough to her, but living for over two millennia does that to a person. So back to the topic, kid, I’m sorry for bringing Voldy up,” Umbra explains, as Harry in plastic, green and yellow walker collides with her leg with a loud ‘oopf’. Neither child nor the woman seemed fazed by it, so Harry took on paddling away again. With some difficulty, due to fluffiness of carpets, of course.

“No, it’s okay,” Credence waves dismissively. “I believe Harry should know about Tom. There might’ve been sympathy between us once, but all I do now is pity that man’s poor life choices.”

Jeanne quirks her eyebrow knowingly.

“I- Okay, I’m a bit sad about the moron, too okay?” man huffs into his now-empty cup, rolling his dark eyes. “I mean, like, he had **so much** potential-“

“So now we’re going to bitch about how he wasted his life, huh?” Jeanne asks, and pretends to not to see Bayonetta’s frown and concerned look at Harry. Well, if he picks bad words up, she’ll at least know who to blame. On the other hand, Jeanne doesn’t feel like getting kicked out of her own home. “How about we get something stronger than coffee, if we’re to name all the wrongs of the world?”

“I don’t drink,” Credence says.

“Good. Bayonetta has my liquor minibar locked and charmed anyway,” blonde huffs, shooting her sister an annoyed look, which Bayonetta responds with a wide grin.

“Now, now, the second you get even tipsy your floodgates open, and I really don’t feel like listening what America’s presidents got themselves into that was utterly stupid. Again.”

“I could talk about Elizabeth Bathory-“

“Jeanne, I’m so very not listening about your sad vampire girlfriend ever again,” Bayonetta narrows her eyes. “Or how she dumped you for Vlad for that matter.”

“Vlad?” Credence perks up. “As in Dracula?”

“The very one! I mean, come on, he wasn’t even that handsome! All he had was a castle! And a dick! I feel offended by that!”

“Ho boy, here we go,” Bayonetta rolls her eyes, picking Harry up from his walker when he ran into a wall. She waved her hand lazily, and the damaged spot immediately repaired itself. “How about you tell him instead on how they wanted to burn you at the stake, hmm?”

“Cereza, I was stupid and nineteen!” Jeanne bristles instantly. “Besides… Fighting in a war was pretty fun? And it’s not like anything happened!”

“Hon, you claimed your visions were Godsend,” raven witch snorted, and deep red blush, almost rivaling blonde’s red lipstick, crept up on her cheeks. “And no, I’m never letting you go on that – we swear ourselves to the demons of hell in exchange for more power! And you claimed to be godsend! It was comedy gold to everyone in the sisterhood!”

If anything, Jeanne’s blush deepens as Bayonetta bursts into giggles.

“Like they would believe me if I said it was all Madama Styx,” she mumbles, and then she takes deep breath to calm herself. “Besides, it was kind of fun. Later on they thought their accusation of me being a heretic were purely political. If they only knew!” Jeanne claps her hands with a giggle, albeit still red.

“You’re Jeanne d’Arc,” Credence says, and somehow he’s not truly surprised. It’s nice to see someone getting used to their brand of crazy so quickly. “Were you really illiterate?”

“Cheeky, but nope,” Jeanne flashes her perfect smile popping the ‘p’. “I faked that for fun. Just like my visions being godsend, when all was actually whispered to me by my lovely demon partner, Madama Styx.”

“But they burned you, twice,” Credence gasps.

“One of the famine victims with conveniently blonde hair and few charms so she wouldn’t appear so dead and more like me really did wonders in fooling that holy bunch.”

“Better yet,” Bayonetta chirps in, twirling around with giggling Harry. “She fooled wizards, too.”

“You two really are something else, are you?”

“Yes we are! Life is never boring with us around!”

“But your understanding of fun does include angels invading and total apocalypse at times, too, Cereza.”

“I’m Newt’s assistant. It can’t be much worse than angry, wounded and hungry Hungarian Horntail now, can it?”

Twin grins were all it took to send cold shivers down Credence’s spine.

“Can it?!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am suffering in isolation and moaning about my thesis that I have until this Monday to finish, so have the second-to-last chapter that I have written. Will I write more Snakes and Butterflies once I run out of the stuff? Maybe. I return to my side works periodically.

  1. **family matters, the big, the small and the routine-breaking**



About a year after her initial visit, Bayonetta can be seen basically prowling through the British branch of Gringotts, dressed in retro square dress neck, with its front purple and printed with butterflies, and impossibly high-heeled black pumps. This time her jewelry is all silver and amethyst, from her rings, through bracelet, necklace, brooch and earrings right to the butterfly clip on her short hair.

She’s quite the sensation right now in August, when there is a boom for getting young wizards and witches their school supplies, causing a stir among great many wizards visiting bank right now. One – she’s dressed absolutely muggle. Two – goblins are jumping over one another in their tries to lick her pumps and to appease her. Three – Ragnok, the Chieftain of the Horde – as close as one could get to be actual goblin ruler – and Gringotts Director, is there with actually nice smile on his face, gallantly welcoming the woman. So, yes.

“Esteemed Lady Cereza el Mariposón, welcome to our home Above, and thank you for answering to our call so quickly,” Ragnok intones, voice polite and respectful without sounding boot-licking. Bayonetta only smiles and inwardly thanks Jeanne for the idea of giving herself a title that sounds like a surname – Spanish, yes, but so is her name, and it means both butterfly and flirt to her cherry in the name, so for her it’s as close to jackpot as one can get – and inclines her head.

“And I thank you, Chieftain Ragnok, for standing vigilant and guarding my son’s heirloom as if it was your own,” she says, also politely, and, after a brief pause, adds; “may your gold ever flow and be magnified tenfold.”

“May your blade bathe in the blood of your foes and may their bodies become the path to your victory,” Ragnok responds in customary Infernal Goblin greeting. “Now, may we proceed? The matter, however not truly so urgent, is of most importance.”

Bayonetta nods, and has to stifle a snort. The crafty creature reaches barely above her knee, after all, and she finds the height difference amusing. Ragnok, of course, senses it and smirks.

“I do realize that you’re used to dealing with creatures much larger than me, but bear with me,” he says with a toothy grin which Bayonetta, in much more refined manner returns. They walk into his office, which is big and intricately decorated, and most definitely meant only for most important guests. Only those would be meeting Cheftain, anyway – Bayonetta wonders how long has passed in between her and someone before her. Her estimation counts in decades. Bloodfang, Potter account manager, is already there – and he’s absolutely furious. That answers Bayonetta’s question as to why he wasn’t the one to welcome her, even if he sent her the envelope with asking to come urgently. Bayonetta, of course, came as soon as she got dressed – portal in Rodin’s Gates of Hell deposited her near Leaky Cauldron, and getting to Gringotts from there was child’s play.

The second Bayonetta sat in comfortable armchair, Bloodfang stood up and started ranting, switching between English, Enochian and Goblintongue, depending on how mad he was at certain parts. Bayonetta chosen to categorize it as following; English for mildly pissed, Enochian for royally pissed and Goblintongue for pissed beyond what other two tongues could convey. This speech was, after all, a language with many offensive words and quotes, much more than in other two combined, often untranslatable and very rude. As he ranted, he slipped them every so often. By the end – basically every second word was Goblin, which Bayonetta didn’t really mind, for she was fluent in all three, and did not mind cussing too much either. Goblintongue, even if native to lesser Infernals only, was still among the Umbran curriculum. You simply had to know what an Infernal spoke of, or you were at loosing position, as they really frowned upon ignorance – and could be plotting your demise right next to you, without your knowledge.

The rant, which truly didn’t surprise Bayonetta as much as it perhaps should, was about a certain old, thieving, meddling goat going under the name of Albus Dumbledore. To be honest, she actually kind of expected him to meddle – she was only mildly surprised it was so late – because she kind of did just take his precious Boy-Who-Lived and placed him safely out of old monger’s reach. All that, of course, didn’t mean she liked what she heard. It went as following;

After a while of lying dormant, he first barged into Gringotts and demanded to know about Harry Potter’s whereabouts. After being not-so-subtly rebuked, he demanded access to the accounts on behalf of being boys magical guardian – which he was not, for current acting one was, of course, Bayonetta. Then, he came back barging with some Aurors, and was rebuked again. Then, he launched a search for Harry, that actually managed to go worldwide – and the person who had him was to be charged with kidnapping. Which was untrue, and Goblins hated liars. However, what was the absolute worst offense for Goblins, he tried to steal from Harry countless times. They despised theft with all their might, after all, despite what one might think about them. And while they did manage to, politically and legally, sit Dumbledore on his ass, the offense remained wedged deeply.

“I take you did not contact me only to tell me this, did you?” Bayonetta asks, cocking her eyebrow.

“No,” Ragnok says instead of Bloodfang, who has yet to calm himself after the rant. “We called for you because… As much as it might not be true, I have seen reports saying that Potter family magic of the items stored in Vaults embraced you as one of your own. That got me thinking – many powerful Wizarding families originate from Umbra, especially the dark ones, after all,” he smiled. “And Potters, in darker times, before becoming known as inherently light, were one of darkest families possible. Born necromancers with fluency in soul magicks second only to your kind, and let that legacy wane about two centuries ago. That still indicates more than half current family history being dark. A waste, that change of allegiance. The fall of their house started with the first light-aligned wizard, after all.”

“And you’re implying that, at some point, someone of my family might have had became a Potter?” she asks, looking at the goblin with interest. His smile only widens.

“If you can claim blood relation to young Heir Potter, that will effectively shut up everybody in the Ministry – if you can actually access Potter family magic, even Dumbledore won’t be able to move and challenge you and your claim over the boy. And, as I said, many prominent wizarding families originated from Umbra. And Potters? For me, they scream of their Umbran ancestry. Given that the magicks accepted you just like that, and that you do look similar to some late Potter clan heads—”

“Tell me then, how do we check that fact,” Bayonetta says, nearly instantly, with a smirk. Stuffing a proverbial sock in Dumbledore’s mouth is worth great many things – if it came to honor duel, Bayonetta would crush him within seconds with her Umbran magic, but with a way to force him to shut up, and do it lawfully, to sit him on his ass and piss him off, to pull out his fangs without fighting him? Count her in.

“All you have to do is to give a drop of your blood onto the paper,” Ragnok said, pushing a yellowed parchment piece towards her. “It’s soaked with Heritage Potion, and will reveal your blood relations almost immediately.”

She isn’t worried about being fooled into blood contract. Goblins are too smart for that, and thanks to Infernal nature, Umbran Witches can’t actually go into such things without fully meaning them. Blood has power, yes, but not for Umbra – for them, it’s the soul that really matters, and blood is just another of bodily liquids, however infused with one’s magic it wouldn’t be. It is, however, a good source of determining genetic relations between one another. So Bayonetta does just that, pricking her finger with her nail, and allowing the red droplet to fall freely onto the paper. It disappears, soaked into the paper, which glows, and then stops, only for black threads to burst from where the droplet fell, and form into written words. Bayonetta notices that it’s her handwriting.

Ragnok takes the paper, and studies it – and the longer he looks at it, the wider his smile becomes. When he looks at the witch, he’s positively twinkling.

“Esteemed Lady Cereza Potter,” he intones seriously but yet happily, “I would like to be the first to congratulate you on finding your long lost, many times great grand-nephew, Harry Potter, and on successfully gaining full custody over the boy.”

“Let’s just stick with the nephew, shall we?” she smiles, and for a moment revels in the fact that she actually has a surname. It was common for Umbra to ignore such things, but it’s became a hindrance in current times. “Now tell me, how are we related.”

“Oh, very simple, my Lady – your mother had a sister, which you may have not known to be actually blood related to you due to Umbra customs, who in turn had a son, your cousin. He married a daughter of Ancient, Noble Family of Peverell, and they took a surname of Potter, thus initiated the line. As Harry comes directly from their children, he’s in every way your nephew. Just many times great-grand.”

“So that was what little Aylard was up to!” Bayonetta laughed, and goblin smiled at her. “Initiating one of the greatest wizarding lines. Boy had little talent for Umbran arts, but he sure had right head on his shoulders.”

“Frankly, all Umbra were somewhat related, so the test would have come positive no matter what – but such a direct relation is of course for our great benefit. That also means that, if you so wish, you can have full access to the family magic, something reserved to the head of the house only – but it’s a special case, Lady Potter, as this magic originated from Umbra, and you’re the only Umbra to currently be in the family, which might not give you actual Ladyship, but does grant complete power over family arcana,” Ragnok explains. “However, am I correct in assuming that this will soon change?”

“While they did exist, there never were many male Umbra, but yes, I already started preparing Harry to train as part of our Sisterhood. He’ll be the first Brother since a rather long time – Umbra Witches are all about femininity, you see, so I can already say that he’ll grow up to be rather flamboyant,” she chuckles. “But, well, power is power, don’t you agree, Chieftain Ragnok, Manager Bloodfang?”

“Of course, Lady Potter,” Bloodfang – now finally calm – smiles. Bayonetta scrunches her nose and sniffs disdainfully at the goblin, and he looks like he’s about to dissolve into a laughing mess.

“Do we must follow this ‘Lady’ titling and all? It makes me sound respectable! Can’t have that now, can we?” she huffs.

“Well, you are Lady Potter now, the Regent Head of the House up until Harry comes of age to claim his rings and titles,” Ragnok says. “Do be grateful that this is the only title you hold – we are certain that young Heir Potter holds at least Slytherin title by conquest as well, and also at least partially the Peverell, due to your cousin-in-law’s bloodline.”

“Okay, can’t be helped then,” Bayonetta sighs. “Now, if you could brief me over what do I have to do as a Regent, it would be much appreciated.”

“Of course. First, are Wizengamot seats. Potter Lordship comes with few, and I suggest you just keep them out of commission, and therefore out of reach of anyone else, up until Heir Potter is capable of filling them himself. I don’t think Wizarding World is ready for reintroduction of Umbra yet, and your patience is not nearly as ironclad as you’d need to deal with all those morons. Now, as a Potter by magic and blood, you have full access to every Potter vault, not that you would need it, but it’s customary you go through entire inventory of what it holds, however boring might that be-“

Boring it, indeed, was. Bayonetta steeled herself and focused on listening to the goblin.

But then, Potters used to be Necromancers? And very fluent ones? Even for Umbra, the true arts of Necromagic were difficult and delicate matter. And if Potters were stupid enough to let them go just because they had bad name… Well. But then, due to all that light-oriented boom, Bayonetta doesn’t really blame them. She’s just... Very, very bitter about it. And slightly envious. And angry that they rejected it.

Because, to let go of such gift? Idiots, the lot of them! She never had much talent for communing with the land of the dead, and she’d have loved to.

So, yes. Bitter much.

“First and foremost, I would like a full list of the Grimoires the family has created and attained, ever since my cousin married that Peverell girl,” she decides finally, and Bloodfang nods.

“It will be ready within a week.”

“There is also matter that has very recently came to our attention,” Ragnok says sourly, just as she’s about to leave. “The old goat decided it would be good idea to set a mail ward on Heir Potter’s name, so that all the mail sent to him would be diverted elsewhere.”

While Rangok seen war and death and genocide, and was no lesser man, he still couldn’t help a cold shudder that ran down his spine upon seeing Bayonetta’s serene smile, co very contradicting the sudden lowering of temperature in the room, accompanied by dimming of its light. The shadows that dance on the wall are blacker than Void and come from the deepest parts of hell.

“See that it is rectified as fast as possible,” she says softly, too softly, and the goblin gulps. “And discreetly, but do create an undeniable proof that such action, and by whom, has been taken.”

“I shall resolve it personally,” Chieftain promises, and slumps into his chair in relief as suffocating aura recedes upon Bayonetta’s exit. He still needs a moment to even out his breathing, before looking at Bloodfang. Potter Account Manager gulps and nods.

“It will be done soon, My Liege.”

“I shall see to it personally,” Ragnok says. “Enraging an Umbra is what one does only when they have a death wish, after all.”

“Well, Dumbledore is a dead man walking, he’s just too stupid to realize it quite yet,” Bloodfang mutters under his breath, and Ragnok smiles.

Dead man walking, indeed. The Wizarding World might have forgotten the Umbra and the Infernal, but Goblins have not. They remember their home, and the mightiest of the damned. And in the end they will be the spectators enjoying the bloodbath – on the right side. The winning one.

Harry Potter’s life will be most interesting thing to have happened in centuries.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

It wasn’t often that Madama Butterfly spoke to Bayonetta outside a meditation session – which, in fact, Bayonetta undertook at least twice a week, two hours each. Just to talk to the Infernal she had sworn her soul to all these centuries ago. She had openly considered the demoness her friend, and she knew the feeling was mutual – the demoness said it herself, that Bayonetta is both a pleasant contractor to be bonded to, and a powerful soul in brewing. And Madama liked seasoned souls when it came to Umbra, no younger than a millennium.

Nevertheless, when she felt a twinge of her magic as soon as she left Leaky Cauldron, Bayonetta reached it out instinctively and instantly, allowing the demoness – who was powerful enough to have world’s magic itself working against her being able to enter Realm of Living, save for being summoned – to contact her. It was apparently urgent, if the sudden, nearly painful blast at her mental defenses was anything to go by.

“ **You should go to Little Whinging** ,” Madama says through the connection. “ **As fast as you can**.”

“ **Is this connected to Harry’s aunt?** ” Bayonetta sends back. She held no sentiment for that woman, but if it got Madama concerned, she wasn’t going to let go.

“ **Yes** ,” Madama says nearly instantly. “ **Do hurry up, Young One, or an innocent soul will be lost. The sigil you left there during your visit is flaring so much it gives me a headache.** ”

“ **Ah**!” Bayonetta chuckles. “ **That explains a lot.** ”

“ **Among other things** ,” Madama answers, vaguely amused. “ **Now do hurry up!** ”

And just like that, demoness severs the connection, and Bayonetta is already soaring on wind and dark magic and flutter of wings of a swarm of hellish butterflies.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Bayonetta steps inside Number 4, Privet Drive just in time to grab a shotgun held by a whale of a man, rip it easily out of his hands and, equally easily, break the firearm in half. Petunia looks pretty much exactly like she did a little over a year ago, with curly black hair and horse-like, almost gaunt face. Except for a rather nasty addition in form of forming bruise around her eye, that looked like it took around quarter of her face. She was clutching a boy to her chest, who was visibly Harry’s age, and her eyes had slightly crazed yet absolutely frightened glint.

The whale of a man, having finally realized that he didn’t have his weapon any longer, and that there was an intruder, turned his attention towards Bayonetta. The woman, still dressed in what she appeared in Gringotts – which, by muggle standards, was also very expensive – looked at him from under blackened eyelashes, very unimpressed. She also easily towered over the man, with her height and heels combined, giving her nearly six and a half feet worth of height. The whale appeared completely stunned, and Bayonetta had gotten fed up with the silence within seconds.

“Go,” she snaps at Petunia without thinking. “Pack your things, everything you need, everything that has any sentimental value for you. You will not be returning here unless it’s for trial.”

That got the whale moving. He hollered something about freaks and threw himself at Bayonetta. Which, for a mortal, was of course a bad move. Chains, black as void, sprung out of nowhere and curled around the man, easily immobilizing him. Bayonetta looked at shell-shocked woman again. This time, she audibly stomped her foot on the ground, which seemed to wake the woman up.

“Go call the police,” Bayonetta repeats.

“You-“ Petunia starts, visibly at loss of words. “But- Wh-?”

“Mummy?” the boy in her arms sniffs. “Why daddy mad?”

Petunia stills and looks at her son, very visibly at the verge of tears. Bayonetta sighs heavily, walks over to them and kneels down to look at the woman who, by all rights, did not deserve any sort of mercy. Sheba knew what kind of life would she give Harry, had Bayonetta not removed him from the woman’s life. Bayonetta should not, by any means, be helping her right now.

Except, Bayonetta was a really big softie, as Jeanne tended to tease her, and condemning child to any kind of ill-treatment was looked down upon even in the very depths of Inferno.

“Go call the police,” she repeats. “I will keep this brute down until they arrive,” she hisses, and the chains tighten with cracking noise, but not enough to leave any possible bruising. Now, it wouldn’t do to be even remotely suspected of anything, would it?

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

And this is pretty much how and why Bayonetta finds herself sitting in Central Police Office in Surrey, wondering where did she go wrong with her life, with rather shell-shocked, three-year-old Dudley and Petunia, who can’t stop sobbing. But then, it’s not every day you get put in situation where your husband tries to murder you, so Bayonetta figures the woman deserves some leeway.

Their case is pending, and the officer will be there shortly to question them.

“In case anybody asks, I’m cousin of your nephew’s father,” Bayonetta says, looking at the woman. “We meet on Lily and James’ wedding.”

Petunia looks at her through glassy eyes, and nods once and firmly, and can’t do more as officer finally walks in. He’s in his late forties, tall and slim, and his face clouded, as he sits down. Petunia only clenches her teeth as them man looks at her with pity.

“I’m officer Trevor McGarden,” he says. “I’m deeply sorry for you, Mrs. Dursley-“

“Evans,” Petunia cuts in, voice still weak but somehow strong. “It’s Miss Evans. Or will be soon. Don’t think I will be staying anywhere near that brute, or even keeping his name.”

“Yes, Miss Evans,” officer agrees, and then turns at Bayonetta. “And Miss-?”

“Lady Cereza Potter, as a matter of fact,” Bayonetta says.

“Oh,” the officer says. “Are you family with Missus.... Miss Evans, then?”

“Not quite. I’m a cousin of the husband of Petunia’s sister – we meet on their wedding. Well, was, when they were both alive. I was taking care of some family business, fully moving to America and all things that follow, when I decided to visit, and, well. Rest is history.”

“You handled yourself very well, Lady Potter,” the officer notes.

“I’m a self-defense instructor, and I practice more offensive fighting styles as a hobby.”

Petunia blinked at Bayonetta, marveling at this smooth, instantly made-up story, unable to decide if she wanted to marvel at how easily the woman spun it, or how believable it was.

“Oh. Then, Lady Potter, you know nothing of what caused this?”

“Sadly, no. Although, I do admit it was most fortunate for me to visit when I did.”

“Yes,” officer sighs, turning to Petunia. “I know it’ll be hard, but if you could rely what happened, Missus.. Ahem, Miss Evans, that would really help.”

Petunia sighs, casting her eyes down. Her face is already ugly purple and swollen around her right eye.

“Vernon has been acting off for a while now. Unnerved, almost. I actually suspected he was having an affair, but was afraid to bring it up. And he’s been demoted in his job for unbecoming behavior towards his coworkers. He was said to be very rude and obtuse, you see. I could see a storm brewing,” she sighs, looking up. “Then he announced that his sister, Marge, was coming. She was here once, and Dudley is scared of her – he started screaming, and Vernon told me to do something. As I tried to calm him, he accidentally pushed and broke a porcelain vase. It was a gift from Marge, you see- Vernon was furious, started screaming, and struck me, tried to hit Dudley, too. And then he went for shotgun in his rage, yelling incoherently. Thankfully, he didn’t use it,” she sighs, glancing at Bayonetta. “He wasn’t even drunk. I don’t think I will be able to bear being any closer to that animal than other side of courtroom.”

“He’s still yelling, as far as I’m informed,” officer McGarden sighs. “With usage of many obscene terms. He’s indeed completely sober, so he will be charged with deliberate murder attempt, most likely. Do you know what will happen now?”

Petunia sighs, and looks down again. Dudley is clutching to her shirt like his very life depends on it.

“We have nowhere to go,” she sniffs. “Vernon was the one working while I stayed home. His sister… She’s perhaps worse than him. I have nowhere to go.”

“Well, I’m certain something can be arranged-“

“You can come stay with us, if you don’t mind flying to America,” Bayonetta blurts before she can bite her tongue, and proceeds to curse in her thoughts rather colorfully in every language she knows – and that’s quite a lot in European languages alone, not to mention Infernal ones. She might dislike Petunia, but leaving a child like this, when she can actually do something about it, is a definitive no. Especially since she was certain she knew of the real reason of Vernon’s rage. “And if you don’t mind staying with Harry and various friends of mine who drop by rather regularly. Trust me when I say that they are menagerie of most colorful personalities.”

“I… Would you do this, for us?” Petunia gasps, tears streaming down her cheeks, once more.

“If we could talk in private?” Bayonetta asks the officer, and if her eyes gleam blood-red for a second, well, nobody has to know. Or how officer McGarden raises, mechanically, like a thrall with no thought of his own, and closes the door firmly. There’s some shuffling, and it’s easy to deduct that thrall-McGarden stands by the door, guarding it. Bayonetta sighs and snaps her fingers, and suddenly a half-transparent, black dome surrounds them, buzzing for a second before silencing and becoming glassy.

“What… What is this?” Petunia asks, looking around, clutching Dudley a bit tighter to her chest. The boy, unused to being a source of comfort, starts squirming.

“A silence ward, Infernal creation - nobody will be able to hear us unless in it. Goblins have very wide array of them, and they’re considered the best wards in the world, also one of priciest. But the price is worth the safety that Inferno War Wards provide, trust me,” Bayonetta chuckles. Goblins, crafty little bastards with unusual inkling for business, really knew how to make money. Infernal War Wards, known as Goblin Wards in this world, were an absolute top-tier of what protection magic could achieve, and not even really dark, unlike most Infernal creations. “Now, I take it young Dudley has had an episode of what is known here as ‘accidental magic’, I take it?”

Surprised by the bluntness, Petunia stops crying and stares at the witch for a moment, before shaking her head in order to regain her composure.

“Mummy?” Dudley asks, tugging at Petunia’s floral shirt. “Mummy, we go home?”

“No, sweetie, we don’t,” woman whispers into her son’s hair. She takes a steadying breath and looked at the child. “We’ll find a new home, okay?”

At that, Dudley visibly brightens.

“No bad Piers?” he asks, bouncing on his mother’s knees. “No bad daddy?”

“No, honey, no Piers and no daddy,” Petunia sighs, and Dudley gives out a loud squeal of delight. Petunia looks at Bayonetta then, who is wearing a rather amused, yet surprisingly fond look. Petunia didn’t really peg Bayonetta for someone to show affection. “Yes. The vase that exploded – it was Dudley. Except he didn’t touch it. He just started screaming bloody murder, and then it blew up – and the shards started flying around him.”

Bayonetta tapped her chin. “I don’t know much about wizards and witches, to be perfectly honest,” she explains to puzzled Petunia. “I come from a nearly ancient order of Umbra. We use the power of Inferno itself, and craft pacts with Infernals to acquire more power. Wand waving and broom riding? That’s not things we do. I do, however, know some people that are in that wizarding world who can help you.”

“You mean…” Petunia starts, still puzzled, “you mean that you are not… A witch?”

“Oh, I am a Witch alright, just with a capital W,” Bayonetta chuckles. “I’m an Umbra Witch. It’s greatly different than the normal witches you know of. Our order was nearly wiped out some five-something, nearly six hundred years ago in what is known as Clan Wars. We are the inherently Dark clan – the inherently Light clan, Lumen Sages, decided to wage a war on us, literally bringing heavens down on our heads. We, of course, responded in kind and unleashed literal Hell upon them. It tells, that the Sages were completely wiped out, and there are still Umbra in existence.”

“Uh…” Petunia starts. “Then… How old are you?”

“Five hundred and ninety-two years old, why?” Bayonetta cocks her head in mock-confusion, and Petunia simply gawks.

“But… But!”

“Excuse you, I’m still young!” witch scoffs. “If we don’t get killed, Umbra can live up to three thousand, perhaps even more. But, irrelevant matters aside, let’s talk about what happens now. I can help you prepare for Vernon’s trial, and fight for custody over Dudley – his sister is likely to challenge it, obviously. And then, your moving to America, unless you want me to help you find a home hare in Britain?”

Petunia looks at her and smiles, albeit weakly.

“No, it’s- America is okay. It’s good.”

 _Maybe_ , Bayonetta muses, _there’s a hope for her yet._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-written, figured it's about time to update. Will I ever write more? Who knows. It's been a long time, I don't even remember what exactly I wanted from the plot.

  1. **parenting, a contagious disease**



Albus Dumbldore was raging. And lesser man would perhaps cower in fear before him, before his recognized might and all the titles, but Potter account manager, Goblin Bloodfang, was feeling more smug than anything at the moment. And rightfully so.

(He faced enraged Umbra Witch on mission fueled by maternal instincts who walked through Hell to retrieve just one soul and **did** , and fought a God and **won** just because he was in the way, accidentally saving the world in the process. He wasn’t about to be afraid of a senile old fool.)

“What is the meaning of this?!” Dumbledore growls, motioning to the parchment crumpled under his fingers. Bloodfang only smiles, and the smile maybe does have too many teeth, but he can allow himself once in a while. Everyone in the Horde absolutely detested the man – for his dishonor, manipulations, attempted theft. They were only looking for a slightest reason to shut him out of the bank. And, having foiled old meddler’s apparently carefully laid plans, Bloodfang had suddenly became a very popular Goblin down home, in both Caverns of Undercity **and** Inferno.

“This is the official documentation of complete guardianship of Harry James Potter being successfully granted to his paternal cousin, Lady Regent Cereza Potter. It was truly a miraculous that she resurfaced and I, for one, sleep better knowing that Heir Potter’s health and education, and all Potter wealth, is in very responsible and trusted hands of Heir’s own blood family,” Bloodfang explains, and has to stop himself from roaring with laughter as Dumbledore grows redder and redder.

May the goat suffer heart attack. If he did because of Bloodfang, Cheftain Ragnok would surely throw a banquet in his name. Oh how honor and a bit of right people among acquainted might elevate a Goblin.

“Young Harry Potter might be in danger!” old meddler tries. “I know nothing of this Cereza, for all we know she might be using young Harry, and taking his money! An action must be taken!”

“It’s not stealing when it belongs to you,” Bloodfang shots back with a glare that causes old coot to adapt ashen complexion. “Lady Regent Cereza Potter is a persona well known to Goblins of Gringotts, all branches, and has our utmost trust and confidence, and even more than that. She is as close to allying oneself with the Horde as a person can possibly get and trust me, Albus Dumbledore, when I say that nothing bad will ever befall Heir Apparent Harry Potter, then I mean it. That woman is formidable and powerful, and she already has you on her blacklist for the machinations of yours she’s aware of,” Bloodfang’s smile suddenly turns cruel and bloodthirsty. “I would watch my back if I were you, Albus Dumbledore. Lady Regent Cereza Potter is very protective and, more importantly, mighty woman, and she will not hesitate to turn to extremes to ensure anything and everything she deems a threat to her and hers is no longer a threat.”

Albus Dumbledore harrumphs and stomps out of the bank in very foul mood and as soon as he’s out of earshot, as on cue, every Goblin who witnessed the exchange, roars in laughter as one.

“Assistant Sharpclaw, issue a notice to Lady Regent Potter about today’s visit from the meddler, she must know that the old goat won’t let he matter drop,” Bloodfang barks at the young goblin by his side. “He will likely try to contact and, ahem, ‘persuade’ her that young Heir Potter would be better off with him and his plotting.”

“Well, he is dumb enough to try,” Sharpclaw shrugs, reaching for some white paper and fountain pen. Honestly, even Goblins started using Muggle inventions, but did Wizards? Of course not. “I will issue a notice so that Lady Regent Potter’s whereabouts will not be leaked from Gringotts. May old goat never be able to reach her before young Heir Potter starts schooling. If he opts to do such in Britain.”

“Well said, Assistant Sharpclaw. Even if Heir Potter opts to pursue Wizarding art as well as the Umbran, America has two very high-profile schools more than capable of schooling him, and that’s without mentioning all those lesser ones,” Bloodfang nods.

Being not only Potter Account Manager, but also in close association with the remaining Umbra had seen Bloodfang’s fast rise in both popularity and respect, and thus power. Enough to have his own office near Ragnok’s and even an assistant. He was pretty important persona in bank now, and if he kept up good work, he would keep his position. And that he would.

They might be the very literal devils, but honor was a value of utmost importance – even gold itself was second to it, if by a very, very narrow margin.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

Magical people have contacts in Muggle World. Of course they would. One word from Bayonetta to Goblins, and after pulling a string or two they find themselves in official courtroom barely a three weeks after the incident happened.

Vernon Dursley’s trial is surprisingly quick, much to Bayonetta’s delight. She even went as far as getting Jeanne bring Harry to Britain for a bit to attend the trial, so that they could go to America together with Petunia and Dudley after it ended. It might or might not have been intentional, because Vernon’s violent outburst about freaks had seen him removed from the courtroom until there was time to his questioning and later sentencing. Bayonetta, as involved party, was invited before the judge, too.

And charmed everyone with her teary-eyed, glossed-over story of a timely visit to Petunia’s house that just prevented catastrophe, preceded with a short ( _and not true at all, definitely_ ) summary of Lady Cereza Potter’s life. No, honestly – people were _crying_ , Petunia noted with firmly concealed amusement. And Cereza – or Bayonetta, as apparently everybody who knew her referred to her – was, as always, impressive. And the attorney she hired god knows where? He might have been oddly short and very mean-looking, but he was by far the most efficient person Petunia seen. Mostly thanks to him Vernon was sentenced for twelve years in prison, and a further restraining order for both Petunia and Dudley.

(Only later she was told that Clark Cooper was, in fact, a Goblin from Gringotts Law Branch, Copperclaw, under a glamour. It didn’t matter, he was _efficient_.)

Marge Dursley might have challenged Petunia’s right for Dudley – if she didn’t come to the courtroom completely, utterly drunk and was penalized with fine and arrest for it and her obtuse behavior, effectively proving herself completely incapable of raising a child.

Petunia left the courtroom as Petunia Evans, with her son, Dudley Evans on her hip.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

While Bayonetta was not surprised, she was also not happy at all to have Albus Dumbledore step into her way as she walked out of the Law Office, Harry on her hip and arms linked with Jeanne’s. She stood a little straighter, her grip on Harry tightening lightly, and Jeanne’s red, red lips pressed into line so thin it was only barely visible. And if she dug her nails into Bayonetta’s arm, the witch didn’t notice.

It was no secret that both women very much loathed the old goat. They were no strangers to his manipulative demeanor and much too great interest in Harry’s life.

“Ah, Cereza, my dear girl-“ old man starts jovially, and it takes all of Bayonetta’s restraint to hold her very dark, very Infernal power from surging at the goat.

“You’re neither an acquaintance of mine, nor allowed to call me that, since I’m the only one who can allow others to call me by my first name,” she snaps sharply. Perhaps not sharply enough, but she’ll take what she gets, slightly shaken by the sheer gall of the man to just appear before her and try to be familiarly friendly with a woman he never meet before. “For you, it’s Lady Regent Potter, _my dear boy_.”

Harry tenses on her hip, hands fisting her pristine shirt with strength that should be beyond human, let alone a four-year-old child. Precious boy, he is, sensing danger for what it is. Bayonetta is fairly certain that boy could fend for himself for a short while had the need arise, but she’d much rather have him not to, even if the Occamy he has curled around his wrist could easily help him out with its ability to instantly resize enough to crush entire street underneath it. Right now, Bayonetta can feel, it’s rigid and hissing angry nonsense, glancing at the old man from underneath of Harry’s sleeve.

There’s something twinkling in old goat’s eyes, and Bayonetta can feel something pressing into her mind. She could – by all means, she should – shatter the mental probe with all the vindictiveness she could muster. She doesn’t, however, slamming impenetrable walls upon impenetrable walls up instead. In her mind, safeguards have safeguards that are further warded and safeguarded. A side effect of pact with Infernal, even if she did train mind magicks before that, so likely a combination, in fact. Something to really drill into Harry, she concluded, if the goat is not above digging into minds of people he randomly comes across. Also, _rude_.

“Do not dig in my mind, you will find nothing,” Bayonetta snaps at the man. “By all means, I should have turned you into drooling vegetable, or at the very least turned you to authorities for attempted violation of my mind. It’s a crime in Britain, yes? I will, should you try again.”

“I assure you-“ old goat starts.

“We care not,” Jeanne snaps, throwing long, nearly-white braid over her shoulder, “for your empty assurances. If you’re nagging us for no reason, we shall call for those said authorities.”

“I merely needed to speak to you,” Dumbledore says, unfazed. “I’m afraid, I cannot allow young Harry to remain in your custody. If you would hand him over, so I could place him with more suitable family-“

“Like you placed him with us, leaving him on a doorstep, on a cold, November night to freeze to death?” Petunia snaps, coming from behind two women, Dudley hand in hand. He’s too big and she’s to scrawny to carry the boy for longer than a minute or two at a time – something to be rectified both ways. “Like you did not care that there were other people, much more willing, and suitable, to care for him?” she says in harsh tone, glancing meaningfully at Bayonetta. While, true, she had no idea about Bayonetta before, Petunia was not quite willing to take Harry in either way – she was both skeptical to magic, and knowledgeable of the fact that there was a madman with perchance of torturing muggles after the boy. Also, boy was apparently savior of the world – there were bound to be countess other, more suitable, **magical** families that would take him in and not even for personal gain!

“Oh yes, Dumbledore, just who are you to concern yourself with the boy in no way connected to you?” Jeanne asks, eyes narrowing. “Cereza is his family in blood, and his guardian in every way, legal or magical. Where, pray tell, would you abandon him this time, had your attempt of kidnapping boy now, for the second time might I add, would have been successful? Whose doorstep he would have to spend night on this time?”

They have amassed quite of an audience. They were before Law Office, after all, and some policemen were making their way towards them. Dumbledore looked around, then at the woman, and for once his face morphed into something very ugly, but at least conveying what was inside his head.

“I’m sure Account Manager Bloodfang warned you, Albus Dumbledore,” Bayonetta says in a low tone, and time seems to slow and distort. Maybe it does. Her eyes glow eerie red, her entire aura bleeds suffocating **black** for a moment. “Warned you that I will strike down any and all danger to me and mine. And you? You are nothing, but a Headmaster to the school Harry might never attend. And will never, unless he specifically asks for it, I assure you. Your interest in my son – for he is my son, in every way that matters, blood included, even if distant – is unhealthy and worrisome. If I ever catch you snooping around anything Harry’s, ever again – don’t think I forgot the stunt with the cloak you stole, and other trinkets that belong in the vaults until Harry claims his Lordship, not in your sticky hooves – I will personally come and **end** you. My kind doesn’t take threats very well.”

“And yet you threaten me,” Dumbledore snaps, and Bayonetta chuckles. It’s an ugly, **ugly** and malicious sound capable of sending lesser men to their knees in fear. Old wizard doesn’t fall, but he visibly pales.

“Oh no, Dumbledore. I don’t threaten you. I’m just simply, politely telling you what **will** happen if you won’t cease your idiocy and attempts to control my son’s life,” she whispers. “It’s a promise, if anything. Not a threat. Threat would imply that I’m expressing intention to inflict evil – whereas all I promise is that I shall remain valiant and protect my son from perceived threat – which is, at the moment, only you. And trust me, Albus Dumbledore, I **will** remove you if need arises. That I sweat on my unnaturally extended lifespan, on my magic and on my love to my family.”

And, before Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, first class, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot could even blink, three women were gone, the suffocating, inherently Dark aura with them.

With woman like that, Harry was bound to become next Dark Lord, at least in Dumbledore’s eyes. He needed to do something to prevent that from happening.

He would try, of course, to gain contact with them, anything, everything to grab ahold of his weapon – and, for another seven years, he would fail miserably to see even a hair of them, up until Harry manages to convince his mother that yes, he does want to attend Hogwarts and yes, she can come in and level the building if there’s something off about it, and yes, he will call every day.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

It took about a month to get Petunia Evans and her son settled at the cost of two guest rooms, but nobody complained – they still had four of those left, since the second floor of their villa-house was made purely for sleeping area and therefore had total ridiculous amount of eight bedrooms, all of which with their own bathrooms. The house itself was costly, yes, but it was nothing that couldn’t be replenished with few days of angel-hunting. If Halos exchange rate to Galleons was insane, then it was only greater when it came to non-magical currency.

Dudley’s room was right in front of Harry’s in the corridor, and Petunia’s was the one next to Master Bedroom, occupied by Bayonetta and Jeanne. They were furnished nicely, all with highest tier materials. But when Petunia tried to get a garish flowery wallpaper for hers, all it took was simultaneous scoff of... Well, everyone, really, for her to just leave it.

She ended with a room all in browns and wooden panels covering the walls, whereas Dudley’s room was a dream-come-true for any young superhero lover, all red and blue and wall covered in life-sized comic superhero images.

Having gotten full custody of Dudley and re-taking her maiden name Petunia was, perhaps for the very first time, free to actually do what she had truly, from the bottom of her heart, wanted. With Vernon sentenced to twelve years in prison for double murder attempt, him and Marge prohibited from even contacting her and Dudley, and financial help from Bayonetta she had little to worry about. In the end, she decided to pursue Landscape Design and enrolled for a course and, eventually, for a degree.

All in all, life was good.

¯\\_ ಠ ᗝ ಠ _/¯

“This is Viveca Barebone. Say hello, Viveca.”

“Hello.”

Bayonetta blinks once, then twice. She opens her mouth, but can’t really think of anything to say, so she closes it again. She’s unsure whether she wants to be confused or surprised, or just resigned.

“Hello,” Harry says from his spot here he’s perched on Bayonetta’s hip, and he waves shyly at the tiny girl that Credence is holding. She has cherubic, oval face, eyes so dark brown that if not for Bayonetta’s superior vision, she would be certain they were black, and hair so pale it could rival Jeanne’s.

When the Potter household (it made Bayonetta giddy to call residents of 16 Clover Dr that) arrived to the Scamander household for a barbecue they’ve been invited to, Bayonetta was not expecting it all to be just an elaborate plot to, apparently, introduce them to Viveca.

“Was it a spontaneous decision? Adoption, I mean,” Jeanne asks and, frankly, she’s the only person from their household to actually be able to fully call herself Credence’s good friend. If she was left in the dark then it was either really spontaneous or really hush-hush. “Or was it some elaborate ploy?”

“Actually pretty much spontaneous,” Credence says bashfully, and, ah, it explains quite a bit. “I mean, I helped Newt and Tina with raising all their children, and Queenie and Jacob too at some point, and now with Harry and Dudley- Well, I wasn’t planning on becoming a parent myself but it sort of... Happened.”

“How old is she?” Jeanne asks with a sigh, walking over and bopping Viveca’s nose. Girl giggles and hides her face I the neck of her father’s shirt.

“Three – about a year younger than Harry,” Credence answers, beckoning the women to follow him to the backyard where Newt can be heard bickering with Pickett. Nobody knows how long do Bowtruckles actually live, but this one is about a century and shows no signs of old age, really. Newt formulated a theory that they’re actually as long-living as trees, and nobody felt inclined to disagree yet.

“And it was really, truly nearly-spontaneous action? No stalking, elaborate planning, stealing sleeping toddlers from people’s doorsteps in the middle of a night?” Bayonetta asks, cocking her eyebrow and the man groans in exasperation. Jeanne makes a funny face and Petunia snorts behind her had at the mention of child-snatching from doorsteps.

“No!” Credence whines petulantly as they come to the view of Scamanders. Tina looks at the group, raises an eyebrow, and then starts laughing. Credence whines petulantly. “I swear to Merlin. But she looked so sad in that orphanage! And then I saw her use accidental magic, and, well, I thought-“

“That Tom Riddle was a magical child in No-Maj orphanage and see how well it turned out?” Jeanne, much more knowledgeable of Credence’s story than Bayonetta or Petunia, asks, receiving a confirming nod in answer.

“Granted, he had an as-, ahem, really awful person for a teacher in school,” Credence says, and stops himself from cursing due to collective disappointed stare of everyone, even Harry in all his four-year-old glory. “But I did realize that Viveca was magical when she started talking to a garden snake in the park, soo...” he said, spreading the hand he was not holding the child with, leaving the sentence open-ended.

“A Parselmouth!” Bayonetta cheers. “Just like Harry. So you figured they could be playmates, huh.”

“Among other things,” Credence laughs.

Harry hisses something at Viveca. Her eyes glint mischievously and she hisses back.

“Ah the times I hate that Parseltongue is an inborn ability and cannot be learned,” Bayonetta chides half-heartedly and Harry giggles in her hold, writhing about until she sets him down with a sigh. “Do me a favor and don’t get to too much mischief; although, you are going into Newt’s case, I assume?”

Harry looks at her with a big grin as Dudley runs to him nearly tripping. The case has decidedly became their favorite playground since day one for the boys, and they both loved helping Newt feeding all the magical creatures – where Harry had affinity for anything snakelike, Dudley just seemed to get along well with every critter in there that wasn’t a snake. For a reason not known to any, Niffler loved the Evans boy. But he was scared of spiders – and Harry wasn’t, and perhaps because of that Bayonetta concluded that she might just accept that they’ll be getting an oversized spider pet.

Alistair – a name Harry had given to an Acromatula runt in the case – could hardly be pried off the boy when the time to leave the case came.

“Animals!” Viveca cheers, as Credence puts her down with an exasperated sigh before turning to an amused Newt. It would seem that the tiny blonde was, for however long she lived with Scamanders, already well and truly indoctrinated to the zoolandia in the case, too.

“Do me a favor and take them to your case, and by Merlin, keep your eyes on the kids,” he says to the older man, and Newt just laughs, beckoning three children to follow him, which they do eagerly. Remaining adults watch them go, as then vanish one by one into an old case set right next to the bench.

Short while later Petunia sighs heavily, and then asks;

“Did we just let three children barely out of toddler state go into a magical case full of dangerous beasts, with only not-quite-sane old wizard as their caretaker?”

“Well, it’s not the first time, nor is it the last, if that makes you feel better,” Tina chimes in with a grin. Bayonetta and Jeanne both giggle at that.

“No, it doesn’t,” Petunia sighs, shaking her head. “You just get used to it, I guess.”


End file.
